


Don't Be Afraid To Sing

by BrideOfBronn (SilkCut)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Budding Romance, F/M, Friendship, Hurt and comfort, Love Conquers Most Things Though Not All, So much hurt and pain before joy, like Romeo and Juliet, slow but meaningful development
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 79,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5224487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkCut/pseuds/BrideOfBronn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dreamer who looks for love in an already loveless world, Sansa Stark was blissfully if not willfully ignorant of the corrupted and complex ways of power and politics. Due to this, she became a prey and a captive of one of the most formidable houses in Westeros, the Lannisters. After witnessing the brutal beheading of her lord father and was also somewhat inadvertently responsible for it, Sansa knew could never trust a Lannister again--not when queen regent Cersei and her malicious son and king Joffrey make her undergo systematic abuse both of heart and body since her captivity. But after the imp, Tyrion Lannister, sought her friendship and expressed an intention to protect her, she eventually learns to accept him even though a rational part of her knew she couldn't.</p><p>Sansa never could have foreseen that not only will she trust him and care for him, but she will  also find herself falling in love with him despite the death and darkness that surrounded their families. </p><p>This work of fiction shows the progression of their connection and romance throughout the books and seasons of the show. The title was taken from the lyrics of the song by STARS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was cross-posted from FFNet, and has been one of my best works of fiction about a couple I root for so passionately. For old readers who would stumble upon a copy of this here, please give me some feedback to know you are out there. For new readers, please immerse yourself happily in this work. I assure you that you won't regret it :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spark of connection ignites when Sansa and Tyrion meet one another on a gruesome day at the throne room with King Joffrey and his knights.

* * *

 

 

**Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.**

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion saw the flash of Ser Meryn's hand as he struck Sansa Stark on her left cheek. Her body slammed against the wall behind her and then she slipped to the floor. She stood up as quickly as she collapsed but Ser Meryn grabbed a fistful of her auburn hair then, pulling her close to him before he slapped her on the other cheek. She collided against the wall again and fell to her knees.

This time she stayed down and her whole body shook as she sobbed in silence. He saw the cracks in her lips where the blood burst through.

A second passed. And then another.

Sansa Stark pulled herself up and tried to stand straight as she met the knight's gaze. She didn't flinch when he struck her for the third time.

Her feet found their place at last. She did not fall again.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion always struggled to walk. His legs are heavy underneath him that oftentimes when he would shuffle his boots against cobblestones, he swore he feels the ground pushing back.

Still, it was riding horses that displeased him more than anything, and when there was no travel expected of him, he avoided horseback as much as he could. When he was nine, Jaime had once offered a mule to accompany him on journeys and Cersei laughed—cackled like a witch—at the thought. She was probably imagining how utterly stupid he would look. Tyrion had to blink away the tears as he shouted at Jaime that he will not be the laughingstock of Casterly Rock. Cersei insisted that his birth, his very existence, is itself a cosmic joke. That was the last time Tyrion got angry and cried in front of his siblings. He knew at that moment that Cersei will forever want him dead.

It also occurred to him that Jaime, in spite of the way he seemed to cherish Tyrion, will never quite understand what it was like to be  _incomplete_.

His brother is perfect. His sister is beautiful. And he is a dwarf—an imp—and he never felt big enough to be anything else.

 

* * *

 

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, YOU BLOODY FOOLS?" Tyrion had shouted then, and he felt the weight of his outrage in his throat. Anger always made him feel bigger. He walked with every confidence he could muster as he demanded his nephew—king of all seven kingdoms and protector of the realm—to back down.

"She is to be your queen! Have you no regard for her honor?"

"The king can do as he likes!" the little shit Joffrey screamed back, his crown falling to the side slightly. He nodded towards Ser Meryn and the knight pulled hard on Sansa's gown and tore the laces behind her back with his sword. She still didn't make a sound as she put both hands on her chest to cover what was left of her. Ser Meryn made a grab at her hair again.

This time Tyrion hit his nephew and when the little shit tried to cuss at his face, Tyrion hit him again. Ser Meryn would've intervened but the captain of his guard Bronn already had a knife on his neck. Joffrey squealed and tried to look dignified as he picked up his crown which fell the third time Tyrion chastised him.

"Mother will hear of this!"

"Go run to her then." Tyrion spat back. He looked behind him and saw Sansa Stark standing still with eyes downcast and not uttering a single sound.

With his chest heavy with guilt, he walked to her.

 

* * *

 

An aging singer once stayed at Winterfell when Sansa was seven. Every morning, he sung about giants moving boulders away from the clouds so that the sun will be at its peak; of rainfall blessed with magic that when it poured on flowers, they began to talk like people. In the afternoon he sung about a flightless white bird dying at the edge of a snowy cliff, until a merciful warlock took pity and turned the snow around him into wings. He sung to Sansa every night about a princess named Jonquil, imprisoned in the high tower somewhere far away and singing to a knight who will come for her one day. Before she could hear him finish the verses a week later, he left. She begged to her father to bring him back. She cried and shouted but her father only took her to the side and told her that there is no need for her to fret about giants, talking flowers, snow-winged birds and Jonquil.

He kissed her on both cheeks and told her she was a living song and that her world will always be as pretty and happy as she was. Sansa believed him.

He had lied to her about the monsters though. She learned that too late.

 

* * *

 

When the beatings were over, Sansa's knees gave out and she knelt to the ground. Her cheeks stung while the rest of her body felt as if it was going to disintegrate. She only looked up to where the Iron Throne was when she saw Tyrion Lannister approaching, his short-stacked legs wobbling a bit.

When he was near, his hand stretched towards her and there was an edge to his voice when he said. "Do not be afraid."

Sansa did not trust him. He was a lion like the rest of them.

He didn't take another step as his hand remained reaching for hers. Sansa looked at his mismatched eyes and took some comfort in the fact that they were not tainted with cruelty. Without thinking about it, she was reaching back. When their palms touched and his fingers closed around hers, she felt a jolt of repulsion because he was an enemy…but there was something else too.

He was strong enough to pull her back to her feet. "Take her to my chambers. Get her washed and dressed." He told her handmaids.

As her handmaids wrapped a cloth around her bruised body, Sansa risked a glance at Tyrion Lannister and they ended up looking at each other in the eye. She turned away first as if burned by his slightest gaze.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion noticed Sansa Stark during the feast at Winterfell and couldn't stop looking her way initially. She was a child but very beautiful that it's almost impossible not to imagine her blooming into womanhood anytime soon. He stopped watching her once he had his fill of wine and felt sleep taking over him. He left the banquet then and fumbled his way through the staircases. He had to drag his legs when he did and once or twice he fell and laughed.

"My lord?" he heard a voice from behind him and knew it was the girl.

"Do you know which of these doors lead to my chamber?" he asked, snorting out a laugh. "I never should have consumed that much ale and mutton all at once."

He heard her approaching and she stood in front of him, lithe and pretty.

_And quite tall…_

Without another word, she leaned close and placed her hand under his arms. "With your permission…?" she began but Tyrion was already holding on to her, forgetting how ridiculous and embarrassing this would look if another person were to see them. Once she got him on his feet, she coolly pointed a door at the end of the hallway. "Would you like the servants to bring you more candles, my lord?"

"No." He grinned clumsily at her placid, beautiful face. And then he reached out a hand and patted her on the knee. When he did, his fingers tightened around it for a while and then he let go. "Thank you."

Sansa Stark curtsied, a faint smile touching her lips. He smiled back. And then he giggled. Like a giddy child. He couldn't stop himself. Sansa watched, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. When he managed to get his giggle fits under control, she was smiling wider than before. It made him sheepish all of a sudden and so began to walk away from her.

"Goodnight, my lord." She called out. He was tempted to look back, and when he did, she was already heading back downstairs. Tyrion stood there outside the door, his hand on the knob. The sight of her leaving made him anguished for no reason at all.

 

* * *

 

Sansa looked around the chambers and couldn't stop shaking even now that she's fully-clothed and all that blood had been scrubbed off her. They called these rooms the Tower of the Hand. This was where her late father had slept. Sansa was almost tempted to smell the sheets but decided against it. She did not understand why the Hand took her here. It doesn't matter, though. She will not be made a fool of. If Tyrion Lannister would ask about her family, like they always do, she will reply the same as always.  _My father was a traitor. My mother and brothers are traitors too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey._

The door opened and Tyrion Lannister stepped in.

"I'm very sorry, my lady." As soon as he reached her, he stopped to hold her gaze. She nodded stiffly, never once forgetting who he was.

She cautioned herself with what she was going to say next. "I thank you for the kindness, my lord."

He raised an eyebrow. "You are most courteous to say so."

Tyrion Lannister stood close to her now. Since she sat, they were of the same height now. He was watching her for a while and it occurred to her that he must have been looking at the cuts in her lips and the bruises on her forehead and cheeks. Most of them were from a week ago, during the riot in the streets. _If he wanted to see, then who am I deny him?_ Sansa tilted her chin up so he could look at everything.

His face softened as he spoke. "You should not have to endure all of this, my lady. If you wish to end your engagement with my nephew, I’ll find a way to prevent it."

 _Liar_. "I'm loyal to my Joffrey. My one true love."

He flinched at the statement as if her deception personally injured him. Sighing, he walked to the table to their right. He slightly struggled to get on the chair. As soon as he sat, he rubbed a hand on his thigh and answered her. "You don't have to trust me." Sansa looked at the hands on her lap and realized she had formed them into fists earlier. "I will never give you a reason to doubt me either, my lady," he added.

She couldn't look at him, not even when he called for her to sit on the table with him. When they were on either side, Tyrion Lannister pushed the basket of fruits towards her and because she did not want him to think she was disrespecting him, she picked an orange and slowly pushed her thumbs on its surface, getting ready to unpeel it. When the juices spilled on her fingers, it was almost as sticky as blood and it made her cringe. She hurriedly licked it and forgot that he was still watching her closely. She kept her eyes down now as she unpeeled the fruit.

"I'm familiar with Northern tradition," he began. "I believe that a lady is required to practice her needlework and dance every day before she turns sixteen."

Sansa was not sure where the rest of this conversation was going and she was taught not to interrupt a person, especially a noble lord, when he had yet to finish his point. She waited.

"I could arrange for your lessons, find you a proper septa to keep you occupied with activities you grew up with and loved," he smiled at her and she knew he was waiting for a sign of gratitude. She did not hesitate then.

"I thank my lord for the kindness."

"You think me kind? Truly?" he chuckled. He paused and then. "Can I have a slice of that orange?" She looked at him at last, trying to read what he intends to accomplish from mocking her but there was only a soft smile on his lips the whole time. She was able to watch his face better at this distance. His mismatched eyes, one green and the other grey, magnified her distrust. She felt as if he was probing her with them. His hair was a disarray of faded golden locks and he was never as handsome as Joffrey or his brother the Kingslayer. Sansa never truly thought him ugly, though. The Hound's features were more terrifying and it has probably more to do with the bitterness in his every look. Tyrion Lannister's face was inscrutable even as he smiled, so she was never so sure how to handle herself around him.

She was able to hand him a piece from across the table. When he took it, he was very gentle that she did not see his other hand appeared from the other side and grabbed her by the wrist. He lifted the sleeve and exposed the knife wounds which were still fresh. She trembled in his grip but did not move, afraid that he might chastise her the same way he did Joffrey earlier.

"Did you do this to yourself?"

She replied. "Yes."

Tyrion Lannister scoffed, tightening his grip but not enough to hurt her. "That means you didn't. Did Joffrey command one of his knights to do this?"

"No, my lord."

"That means 'yes'." He let her go and squeezed the orange inside his palm. He looked…angry. It puzzled her. She pulled her wrist away and rolled the sleeve down.

A moment of silence passed between them.

"Unless you speak up, I cannot help." His fingers drumming on the table.

She watched his fingers. "What would you have me say, my lord?"

"Whatever your heart needs to sing for."

Sansa blinked, confusion almost swallowing her up. "What…do I say?"

"I don't need to tell you that."

"But I…I only aim to please you, my lord."

"You're doing a bad job at it then, because I am certainly not pleased."

 _I don't understand what he wants me to do and what he wants me to say to make him happy._  Sansa licked her lips. The cuts in them tasted like copper.

_If he doesn't get what he wants, he might hurt me._

"I suppose I should start then," Tyrion Lannister interjected. He stopped drumming his fingers. The look he gave her was chilling. "You have never known anything rotten in your life and so every time Joffrey and his knights beat you, all that pain doesn't change what you are and what you believe in. But you can't run away from the things inside your head, Sansa."

She just stared at him in silence though she understood what he meant.  _He's calling me a coward_. Joffrey called her stupid and shoved her to his knights so they could break her. The queen had told her that she was blind and pitiful to wish for any man who was gentle, brave and strong to marry her for love. Everyone in the seven kingdoms said that she was a traitor's daughter and she must suffer for his treason. She understood everything better than they thought but she buried all of it at the depths of her heart and readied herself for another smile the next time they tell her she was weak.

She will not lash out or fight or scream or die. She was a lady and she remembered all her lessons well. _A lady's armor is her courtesy._

"Your turn," he said.

"My lord should tell me what he wishes to hear."

Sansa had peeled away the rest of the orange. Its insides were soft and smooth to touch and its frailty almost made her want to smash it on the table. She looked at Tyrion Lannister again and his mismatched eyes were probing her once more. She waited for his response and when he smirked a little and asked, "Tell me about your dream wedding then." Her stomach wanted to burst.

She placed the orange on the table, keeping her eyes on it as she answered. _Tell him a lie_. "I pray for the glorious day I will see my beloved Joffrey in the Sept of Baelor and pledge my eternal love and devotion for him in the sight of the gods."

"Is that what you pray for in Godswood every night then? That Joffrey will put a ring in your finger and own you forever? That he will be the one person in the world you will lie in bed with and wake up to?"

Sansa could hear the disbelief in his voice and she didn't know how to react to that. To neutralize the conversation, she found her voice and asked him. "And what of your dream wedding, my lord?"

That took him aback but he recovered fast, laughing. Sansa remembered the first time she heard him laugh back at Winterfell. When she thought of home, she tore her gaze away from the orange and tried to think of something else before her eyes could water. He had gotten quiet afterwards. He picked up a goblet from the table and stared down at it for a very long moment as if he was waiting for wine to appear. When he answered, he wasn't looking at anything else but that goblet.

"Just a quiet place with only heaven and earth to bear witness," his voice was oddly calm. "I will be standing with someone who loves me."

Sansa could hear Queen Cersei inside her head.

_Do you want to be loved, Sansa?_

_Everyone wants to be loved, she said._

"That's all I want." Tyrion Lannister turned to look at her now, his mismatched eyes reeling her in. "Everyone wants to be loved."

Their gazes lingered on each other for what seemed like forever. Sansa could hardly breathe as she now felt the sting of tears. He watched her thoughtfully and opened his mouth to say something else but stopped himself. He must have realized that there was no need for words this time. As she cried softly, he climbed down the chair and walked to her. He reached out his hand again and rested it upon her shoulder. He didn't smile but his mismatched eyes, sad and knowing, held so much warmth she hadn't recognized until now.

"I thank you for the kindness," she said and meant it for the first time.

"Your handmaids will escort you back to your chambers then."

He motioned towards the door and his squire entered and helped her to stand. They went out of the room together and two of her handmaids were already waiting outside. As soon as she reached the threshold, she risked a glance behind her where the door was still open.

Tyrion Lannister watched her.

The sight of him made her chest twinge.

 

* * *

 

Robb gathered yellow flowers before he left and had strewn them in her hair as he said goodbye. "The South will do you good, sister," he said, rubbing a gloved hand on her cheek.

"Will you come to see me off?"

"I have to watch for Bran and mother." He kissed her forehead. "I'll follow you as soon I'm able."

Sansa waved at him as he walked back inside the castle. Septa Mordane reached a hand to help her up the carriage.

Before she climbed up, she saw Tyrion Lannister grabbing the ropes of his horse. The animal bent down slightly as he stepped onto to the footstool to lift himself up. He managed to get on top of the horse by putting one foot on the stirrup and rising up quickly to the saddle while his other foot found the other stirrup to step on. It was not the most graceful thing to watch but once he was sitting atop, he looked like he belonged there. On horseback, he towered over everyone else.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 _"We don't go breaking down. I feel like nothing ever will" ~Tourist,_ Athlete


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion discovers that though Sansa has no choice but to bend to the will of one Cersei Lannister, the Stark girl proves that she does not break so easy.

* * *

 

 

**Family. Duty. Honor**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The queen regent told her one dreary morning while they were breaking fast that Sansa needed a tighter bodice to outline the new shape of her body. Cersei Lannister had been doting over her for two days now since her first flowering. "A maroon visage with golden laces," the lioness proclaimed.

"The curls of your hair would look like orange flames behind your back." Cersei Lannister regarded her languidly behind the goblet she placed close to her face. "Nothing would please Joffrey more than to see his bride on fire and draped in blood."

Sansa has lost her appetite but finished her food until her throat hurt.

The very same afternoon, her handmaids and a seamstress graced her chambers with garments of the lioness' liking. She stood at the center of her room with only her pink smallclothes on as the women wrapped her in several fabrics until they found the right combination. Sansa had to stand absolutely still and quiet as the seamstress weaved. She watched her through the looking-glass in front of them and it occurred to Sansa that she was peculiarly excited about this. She thought about Lady Catelyn, her mother, and how she liked to dress Sansa in blue and green cotton robes underneath the finest white wools. She would personally knit a direwolf sigil in gray threads across the breast of her left side where Sansa's heart is close to, so that she will always remember that love lies strongest in the blood.

It took two hours to finish the new gown but Sansa never moved an inch. _A lady always maintains her posture especially at times she doesn't want to_. She remembered her lessons well.

When it was all over, she glanced straight at the looking-glass and her reflection devastated and endeared her in the most confusing manner.

"You are beautiful, Lady Stark." It was Shae, the handmaid she favored most, who spoke up when the others were simply too astounded by her.

Sansa gave her a genuine smile.  _I had always been beautiful._  Her face fell soon after. _In a coat of gold and red_ , she thought _, I will bear Joffrey as many cubs as the queen regent demands of me._  She turned away from the looking-glass then and felt the bars of the cage closing in further.

When she turned around, she forgot her balance and her foot stepped on the hem of her new robes and she stumbled into the arms of no other than the sellsword they called Bronn, the captain of Tyrion Lannister's personal guards. She immediately tried to push herself away from his grasp and he didn't hold on that long either.

"The Hand requests your presence, little Lady." He said with that awful glint in his black eyes more pronounced than ever. It made his gaunt face look even more ghoulish. "Allow me to escort you to his chambers." He placed a hand on the tilt of his sword on his right side and she did not trust him any better for that.

"I will come with her," Shae told Bronn and the two of them eyed each other with a familiarity that puzzled Sansa.

She found her voice at last. "Stay here. The Hand wants me to come alone, does he not?" she addressed the sellsword guard.

"Aye, little Lady." He grinned.

 _I am not a child. You are looking at a woman flowered_ , she wanted to say but she kept silent and followed him outside, leaving Shae and her other handmaids behind. As she walked in her maroon robes weaved with golden laces, the texture of the fabric—as well as the sensation of blood surging between her legs—made her stronger and more vulnerable than before.

 

* * *

 

The Tower of the Hand was not a homely place to find oneself in but there was heat in the hearth of the fireplace close to the nearest window where Tyrion Lannister sat, his attention focused on a thick book above his lap. He looked like a child still learning to read in this distance but as she got closer, he reminded her more of the sage maesters her father talked about once, buried in their studies of history and warfare. That certain air of cunning bundled in such a small stature—she feared that about him more than anything else.

He didn't even look up as he spoke to her. "It's been a tiring week for you. You survived that ugly business of the street riot days before. You endured my loving nephew's brutal show of affections—and now, as I'm informed," he closed the book and finally met her gaze, "you're coping with the very first visit of your moon blood."

The topic had caught her off-guard and she colored deeply. Not only that, but he has also noticed the state of her dress and was openly gazing at her from head to foot. Tyrion Lannister cleared his throat and continued. "I wanted to dine with you and my sister tonight. As for the children," he meant Tommen and Myrcella, "they will grace your beloved Joffrey with their presence on his table. I spoke to Cersei about this and she was more than happy to accommodate." He paused. "And by that, I meant she almost slapped me before agreeing to bear through such an awkward ordeal." He looked pleased about that.

Sansa said nothing. She interlaced her fingers together and just listened.

"I brought you here to ask for your food preferences for tonight." Tyrion Lannister walked towards his bed and placed the book down on the lavender sheets. She found it an odd choice for bedcovers, especially when she noticed the sunflowers on them. He followed her gaze and chuckled. "It's a bargain purchased by Lord Varys as a token for our budding friendship."

Sansa stayed silent. She fiddled her fingers together and watched him.

"It must be uncomfortable," he said softly, "to be dressed like a Lannister."

She blinked at him but still chose to keep her mouth shut.

Tyrion Lannister was determined to break into her shell, however. He walked towards her and brushed his thick, short fingers on the right sleeve of her robes. He caressed it while looking intently into her eyes and it forced her to look down on him as well. It occurred to Sansa, as she towered above him, that other people may perceive his small stature pitiful, but not her. She could see that it gives him more opportunities to deceive and unnerve those he wanted to overthrow. She understands the kind of man he is and she doesn't know how to feel about that—especially not when he's touching her dress like this with that certain glee beholden in his stare.

The discomfort from it chilled her bones. "My lord," she said carefully. "I shall eat whatever pleases you."

"Tell that to my sister. It delights her to see you ever so submissive." He answered, tightening his clutch on her sleeve this time. "You somewhat enjoy being called 'little dove', don't you? That is the sole reason Lannister red is not your color."

 _He wants to tell me that I'm powerless_ , Sansa thought. "My lord is gracious to say so," she replied, keeping her fingers entwined and her posture straight. Tyrion Lannister laughed then. It was a sound that made her tummy flutter a bit. He regarded her with those sad and knowing eyes again even as he smiled. He pulled his hand away from her sleeve, taking a step back.

"But you are beautiful," he remarked quietly, almost as if it's their secret.

Sansa felt obliged to nod. "Is there something else my lord commands of me?"

"Your company," he answered with a dismissive tone but Sansa wondered if he meant something else because of how casual he spoke to her.

"At this moment, my lord?"

"Yes." He pulled himself up the bed and sat facing her. He gestured a hand to the nearest chair and she obliged without a second thought.

"Do you read books, Sansa?" he asked.

"Only those I'm permitted to read and learn from, my lord."

"What sort?"

"Books on manners and duties of ladyship, my lord."

"How about tales of fiction?"

Sansa thought for a moment and then she answered. "Only the ones about songs, my lord." She leaned her back straight and kept her fingers steady on her lap as she spoke.

"The stories that we read tell us a lot about ourselves that are hidden and unknown." Tyrion Lannister explained. "Sometimes I interest myself with books about forgotten stories. Like those of your ancestors, the First Men and the Children of the Forest. Do you recall?"

Sansa nodded. "Our wet nurse knows so much of those and my brothers Bran and Rickon enjoy listening to them…" she trailed off.  _Am I beginning to let my guard down with my captor?_  She decided it wise to let him talk.  _He can't know what I think…or what I feel._

Tyrion Lannister had of course noticed her silence but he filled the gaps as quickly as she dug them. "Do you know about the adventures of Ser Dunk?"

She shook her head.

"A true, brave knight, that one." He had that wistful look in his face that made her pay closer attention to what he has to say next. "He was deposed from knighthood by the Mad King himself but he fought more gallantly like no other knight and prevented villages from being sacked. He rescued children with no distinction of nobility and birth. He protected women whether they're maidens or whores." Slowly, his hand reached for her knee and it stayed there. She looked down at it as he said. "You would have loved him, Sansa. He was every bit of perfection you've always wanted in a man."

She didn't know what polite thing to say for the first time.

Tyrion Lannister didn't wait for her response. He removed his hand and smiled at her and his mismatched eyes drew her in while he spoke, "I shall see you again at supper, my lady. For now, you can enjoy the company of the other ladies of the court. They knit together in the garden, don't they?" he stood up and grabbed the book beside him. He was already walking towards the window where she found him earlier. Without his permission, Sansa remained seated.

When he turned to find her still there, he waved a hand to dismiss her.

"You are always free to go, Sansa." He called out to her once she reached the door. "I will never force you to stay if you would rather leave."

She stopped midway just so she could look back at him. "Yes, my lord. I'm here by my own volition."

He shook his head, smiling in a way that betrayed his disbelief. "Your own volition to be obedient, you mean." He paused. "My fair maiden, I'm not sure how to talk to you sometimes and I was never one to ever fail or stutter in conversations."

Sansa always curtsied when she couldn't answer and there was nothing else to offer. "I will see you later at supper then, Lord Tyrion."

"I expect you to wear whatever you like by then," he said as she stepped outside. "Something that resembles a piece of home, perhaps?"

Sansa didn't turn around this time and closed the door.

 

* * *

 

Cersei was already with her second cup of wine before she even took a bite of the seared meat in her plate. Tyrion busied himself by slicing through his own meat, dividing the portions evenly and separating them from the potatoes and vegetables. He never liked the way food would mix together on his plate, so he did his best to keep the distance among them.

"Where is my little dove?" his sister asked, growing restless. "Her tardiness will be taken note of. She is not one to be careless of time, obedient wench that she is."

"Should I tell the squires to measure the wine they put in your cup?" Tyrion suggested. "Perhaps in doing so, you'll learn to govern the temper that comes with your consumption?"

"Don't concern yourself with matters above you, dear little brother."

"Only things that are beneath you interest me greatly." Tyrion stabbed his food and placed it his mouth, chewing slowly as he savored the taste. He smiled at Cersei.

Cersei raised her goblet. "You’re enjoying this, you ugly little fuck."

"You didn't wait for dessert before you can degrade me." He remarked. "That's a new low to maintain." He raised his goblet to her as well and they drank together.

It was in the middle of this short quibble when Sansa Stark appeared. She was still dressed the same but as she sat at the edge of the table, strategically placed between him and Cersei, they both took notice of the blue sash knitted with sunflowers that she wore on her head. _She has granted my request and made her own choice this time,_ Tyrion thought, and he fought the urge to laugh at his sister's face when he saw how much Cersei hated it.

"A pretty thing," his sister remarked with all kinds of bitterness. "Did you make it yourself this afternoon?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the Stark girl answered, keeping her hands steady as she gripped her fork and knife "I thought Joffrey would join us and I wanted to please him."

Tyrion tried not to choke on his potatoes. She knew well that it's only going to be the three of them, but Cersei didn't know Tyrion had informed Sansa about that.

"It would have pleased him, no doubt," Cersei smiled through her displeasure and gazed at Tyrion. "But his uncle insisted that we dine without him because I believe Tyrion here wants to get to know you better. Perhaps to ensure that you are a suited bride for Joffrey."

"And we are only thinking of our king's best interests." Tyrion added.

Cersei widened her smile but Tyrion noticed that her knife was slightly raised from her plate. He batted his eyelashes at her and turned to Sansa this time. He tried not to get distracted with how incomprehensively lovely she is with the crown of sunshine in her hair.

"I've arranged for two septas for you. One will teach you dance and music while the other on coin and arithmetic," he brought that issue up so naturally that he could hear Cersei screaming of disapproval in her head. He ignored his sister and went on. "Your mornings will be about your education on money matters that will equip you to run a proper household while the rest of your afternoon will be filled with songs…" he couldn't help but smile, both for Sansa's benefit and the other to spite Cersei from where she sat.

On cue, Sansa Stark replied. "You are very thoughtful, my lord."

"Isn't he just so? It makes you wonder why there are so many who call him lecherous to his face," Cersei intervened. "And whisper him as a cursed, wretched fool behind his back."

"You have an enduring gift for subtleties and tact, sweet sister."

"And your display of fondness for your future niece-in-law might be considered scandalous." Cersei gestured a hand to one of the squires and her goblet was filled again.

Tyrion drummed his fingers on the table. He always does that when he stalls or feels confronted. This time it's both. "I've sent Lord Baelish to the Stark camp and will receive good news of his progress on the morrow."

That caught his sister's attention. "And since when had the Hand conspired with the puppeteer?"

"It was of personal, family matter."

Cersei's expression changed and she turned into a softer woman Tyrion only saw glimpses of in the past. "Have you received any developments about Jaime's situation then?"

"I had Lord Baelish deliver Eddard Stark's bones in good faith." Tyrion replied. "Unlike you, Lady Catelyn is a woman with a great capacity for forgiveness once you've proven that you are worthy of the esteem. She may consider an exchange of prisoners." He glanced at Sansa briefly but she was silently chewing on her food, not looking at either of them.

"And what of his head?"

Tyrion looked back at his sister. "I'm sorry?"

"Ned Stark's head." She remarked as she playfully scratched her plate with the fork. "It's a valuable piece of ornament my son adores. Did you give that away too?"

With the corner of his eye, Tyrion could see that Sansa was calmly slicing at her meat as if she is deaf to this whole conversation. He didn't care to address her when he answered Cersei. "There was little left to give back. The birds have…it was only a semblance of a man's head by now." He had gotten quiet then, intensely aware that this was killing the Stark girl far more than he could imagine. He wanted to reach and squeeze her hand but fought the urge.

"Good," Cersei smiled and turned to Sansa now. "It would have been a shame if you have given that away since Sansa likes to visit that part of the castle sometimes."

 _Oh gods…_ Tyrion bit his tongue as he looked at Sansa.

"One of your handmaids told me that you would watch it as it rested on the perch of the high walls, and probably praying for his head to attach itself to his body once more," Cersei leaned in, the cruelty in her expression and voice beginning to remind him of her son's.

It was the very first time in years that Tyrion wanted to empty the wine in his cup by splashing it across his wicked sister's face, but his hand remained in place when Sansa answered.

"I only wish to be reminded of my father's treason so that I will not mirror his example and displease you, Your Grace." She said softly as she met Cersei's gaze.

_If she can hold back, then I should trust in her strength and keep my cool._

"That's quite commendable of you, my lady." Tyrion remarked.

"Yes, little dove," Cersei placed her hand above Sansa's. "We all aspire to be as loyal and devoted as you are in spite being a traitor's spawn." Leaning closer, she pecked Sansa's cheek. And then with merciless precision, Cersei gently removed the sash of sunflowers on Sansa's hair and let it fall to the ground. None of them said anything. Tyrion watched the whole scene unfold in front of him in begrudging helplessness and then washed the bitter aftertaste that came with it with his wine. He gulped down everything.

Cersei poured Sansa's cup. "Let us have a toast to the future of your happy marriage with my son and the prosperous life of a queen that you will have soon."

"I am honored to be loved by His Grace." Sansa Stark answered.

Both women lifted their goblets and drank the sweet poison of their lies.

 

* * *

 

Sansa was in a hurry to get back to her chambers and rely on sleep to help her forget everything that has happened in that supper. She felt every part of her body quivering as she trudged in the hallway, gripping her skirts up so she won't fall.

"My dear lady!" It was Tyrion Lannister and she almost wanted to run off when she heard him call out. But she remembered her lessons in courtesy well so she stopped and turned to greet him. Her voice sounded strange to her as she tells him that she had a lovely evening with him and the queen regent. She told him she wanted to sup with them whenever it's convenient for the both of them. "It would please me to please my lord and Her Grace…"

It was then with that last statement that the words got caught in her throat, and before her eyes could leak, she turned her heels and was almost about to run away when Tyrion Lannister caught her wrist. She wanted to kick and shout and hit him then. Or fall to the ground and hug herself as she cries. Sansa shoved these feelings away. _A lady always maintains her posture especially at times she doesn't want to_. She steadied herself as she faced him.

He looked smaller than she remembered, and it was probably because she had never seen him so sad before. His mismatched eyes were slightly moist. She shuddered at this. His fingers found hers and he squeezed.

At first he just stared up at her and she felt ashamed and vulnerable. There was nothing else to say to him now, polite or otherwise. Even if she didn't hold his hand back, she didn't pull away either. Sansa stayed there as he dismantled her with his compassion.

"I want you to come to me, Sansa, when you're at your limit," he began. "I want to have a piece of your sorrow and share your grief. I may not be able to carry you all the way through but…" he looked down at their hands entwined together. "At least tell me what is in your heart even when it's the worst time to be honest. I will not mock you or put you in harm's way."

Sansa wanted to take her hand away from his grip but felt scared to do so. He looked at her like she's the most breakable thing in the world and it's destroying her.

"I will be your friend from now on," Tyrion Lannister went on.

 _I will love you,_  she heard that in his tone. She couldn't feel anything.

"My lord…is too kind." Sansa managed to respond as she loosened his hold on her with her other hand, but Tyrion Lannister easily let go at last.

"It is not mere kindness that compels me, my lady." He answered. "I feel…obliged to keep you safe from whatever havoc my family..."

The more Sansa wanted to run away from him, the more she felt the need to stay. "I thank you for the kindness just the same, my lord."

She paused. "Tyrion." The sound of his name on her mouth felt strangely liberating…but wrong. It didn't please him either. She could see the way his expression darkened and how he shifted his eyes to the side as he replied.

"I will call for you again on the morrow to discuss about your lessons with the septas. For now, you must retire to bed."

Sansa curtsied and closed her eyes slightly when she did. As soon as she was upright again, Tyrion Lannister was already walking away, dragging his short legs beneath him. She gathered her skirts and turned to the opposite direction.

She listened to the way their footsteps resonated until the sound of her own was all that was left.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 _"I'm miles from where you are. I pray that someone picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms" ~Set the fire to the third bar,_  Snow Patrol


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion witnesses the full depth of Joffrey's cruelty towards Sansa as the Stark girl rediscovers who she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNINGS** : Mentions and actual scenes of systematic violence and abuse

* * *

 

 

**Growing Strong**

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion woke up the next morning thinking about what he could do to lessen Sansa Stark's pain for today. He remembered that he had to later meet the septas he arranged her lessons with for her. He barely slept, and when he finally had, he found himself leaning against the window where he was almost finished with the book he'd been reading. As he looked across the sun approaching the sky, it occurred to him how disconcerting it was that he'd been thinking too much of Sansa Stark lately.

_Her luminescent winter-skin._

_The way her hair burned when the light touches it._

_Those devastating eyes._

He tossed the book aside and pressed his palm on his forehead, sighing from the depths of exhaustion and defeat.

_The cuts on her lips._

_Her false courtesies._

_Her youth._

Kicking his legs underneath him, he let his bare feet touch the frigid floor. He didn't rush standing up. It's always been a great struggle to move his legs and thighs properly especially when he's sitting on high places like this. But Tyrion liked the exercise. He enjoyed the challenge. It brought him some joy, shallow it may be, to overcome the littlest of hurdles along with his handicap. As soon as he was able, he walked to his bed and realized he still wanted to rest. As he contemplated whether or not to give in, his fingers found the sunflowers in his bed covers and he caressed them absentmindedly. He wanted to touch her again. He couldn't stop thinking about the last time she held his hand two days ago. Or the way she looked at him when he described his dream wedding. What was that in her eyes he saw then?

Tyrion felt stupid now. He brushed off whatever convoluted fantasies he may have for the child. He already felt repulsive enough.

His squire Podrick entered his chambers as soon as he removed his garments and stepped out of them. The boy was accustomed to this and neither commented on his nudity. Pod brought a tray of food and Tyrion enjoyed the smell of burnt bacon and fish in the morning more than anything so as soon as he put on new robes, he happily sat on the table and ate.

"My lord, you have a message."

"What does it say?" Tyrion had been teaching the boy to read for three months now, at least twice every four days. He likes to listen to someone read to him sometimes, most probably because he wanted it to make up for all the bedtime stories he was never read to as a child.

"The lady Sansa writes 'Thank you for the supper and the kindness. I would very much like to read about Ser Dunk.' A handmaid brought it up last night, my lord."

Tyrion stopped chewing his bacon as soon as he heard the girl's name. He managed to take a sip from his wine and swallowed.

_She called me by my name last night too. Is this her way of reaching out?_

"Get me a parchment and quill."

Podrick handed them to him and watched Tyrion as he writes.

 

_'Perhaps tonight I could lend you the book? Come alone to my chambers and we'll talk. I hope you can make time. I truly meant to be your friend, my lady.'_

 

Almost nervously, Tyrion wrapped the parchment using a blue ribbon he found pressed between his other books. He gave it to Pod and told him to invite in the septas an hour from now once he's fully dressed to accept. His squire took the letter and immediately left. Tyrion was alone again.

What could he possibly achieve, seeking out her friendship like this or anything that resembled her favor, faint and reluctant as she already was so far? He specified that she should come alone to his chambers, perhaps thinking that in doing so it will prevent her from speaking to Shae about it—his whore—and it would not be more uncomfortable than it already is. But Tyrion should not lie to himself and deny that he thinks that her acceptance of this tryst—no, it should not be referred to as such—is somewhat her own way of inviting him to her own guarded chambers of the mind. He would not dare entertain that impure thought. But here he was, indulging that hope as he abandoned his now unfinished breakfast to pick up that prized volume of book the lady Sansa wished to read, the manuscript of the unsung hero he idolized as much as he did Jaime. It was heavy as it has always been from the moment he came across it not long ago, and the weight reminded him of his own smallness, which then seizes him with a weakness he resented. It was the kind that takes over every time he's in the presence of anything larger than him. It never got any easier for Tyrion to convince himself that he is a man, not when surrounded by knights in armor and high lords. Not when his feet pained him every time he climbed the stairs. Tyrion smirked to himself this time, and despite the ugliness of his life.

Being a dwarf was finally perfectly acceptable for now. He should never forget what he was. But he wanted to be more than that in the eyes of a woman.

He hummed to himself for a while, pushing the self-hating doubts to a corner as he browsed through the tattered, yellowed pages, his eyes quickly scanning through his favorite passages. He smiled as he read the vulgarities of chivalry, the purity of impropriety. He enjoyed the almost coquettish way Ser Dunk would lure in his enemies before he stabs them in the name of the seven; how he would curse at the Mad King, and try and try and try to redeem the kingdom he tyrannized over. Tyrion closed the book, feeling foolish for having these childish imaginings that are unbecoming of a Lannister. But it would be perfect for a Stark. There is always a place for dreams in a house of honor. And Sansa Stark—with the bruises on her legs, the knife wounds on her wrists—she would love Ser Dunk too.

 

* * *

 

The septas are maiden and crone, Tyrion thought in quiet amusement. Septa Loraine was a thin wisp of a woman yet everything about her protruded sharply even in her loose gray garments. They draped on her body like curtains, concealing everything but her face, which was grave but not entirely incapable of expressions of kindness.

"The wages vary, my good lord," Septa Loraine spoke, "it depends on the frequency of the lessons, and the results procured from them."

"Fantastic," he answered. "I want Sansa Stark to continue her formal education. Her youth should not be wasted on idle things. In fact, she doesn't even do much at all since her stay."

"The Red Keep is a spacious castle. There are not enough productive things to entertain a lady indeed," Septa Loraine kept her hands on her lap and she sat with her back straight. Her stillness impressed him as she went on. "The lady Sansa needs lessons again, that I am most certain of, and it's noble of you that you took it upon yourself to reinforce that."

She regarded Tyrion with a formality tinged with sympathy although Tyrion could surmise that she would not dare pity him. He may be an imp but he's still rich, and wealth has been a compensation she recognizes to be his shield from most things. There was an immediate understanding between them, unspoken as it was natural, that Tyrion even considered being friendlier to her if she took good care of Sansa Stark as he required her to do.

"She is a guest of honor after all," Tyrion remarked, lightly tapping his spoon on the teacup. Septa Loraine only had to look at that movement and then back at him. That bearably discernible glance was already enough to make Tyrion stopped the tapping. He grinned at her, adjusting his position from the seat so he could sit up straight as well.

"Does the lady Sansa know any instrument?" The younger septa asked.

"I have not asked," Tyrion replied. "I will do so tonight."

Septa Coral was obviously the music teacher. She's about seven years older than Sansa Stark with a noticeably shapely figure and bright blue eyes. Tyrion wondered if she had dark hair like Shae underneath her veil or perhaps a halo of golden girls like Cersei when her sister was younger. As he met the beautiful septa's eyes again, he imagined that she had auburn hair a shade darker than Sansa Stark's. He felt suddenly uncomfortable with that musing so he cleared his throat and said, "Arithmetic is always fun, isn't it? I hope that Lady Sansa may think so."

Whether or not Septa Loraine recognized the sardonic implication of his statement, she didn't show as she answered him. "The lady manages the household of her lord husband. She must see to it that she can do more than count the basics and therefore must be well-versed with mathematics. It is a language that will train her mind since high-born women are not equipped to train with swords." She gently reached out for her cup of tea. She didn't raise it to drink from it, however. Instead she turned the cup so that the handle was facing left. She then placed her palm on top of it, as if she's measuring the heat with her skin.

"The progress of her learning depends on how intuitive and open Lady Stark will be with her lessons."

Tyrion watched her hand for a while before he answered. "She is very proper, you know. It's almost painful to watch that in action, and it also makes it more difficult to communicate with her."

He did not mean to be so tactless about that so he took a long pause, leaving the words scattered in the air around the three of them, wondering if either of the septas will collect the words and put them together in a different context. Fortunately, Septa Coral simply changed the subject and said. "I play percussion and string well, my lord. I plan to start our lessons with dance and so I'd like to inquire what dances she has learned so far."

He nodded. "Yes, I'll ask about that too, septa."

Septa Loraine finally raised her cup but she still didn't drink it. Her whole arm was steady as she held it on the level of her chest. "Where do we conduct these lessons then? Both require a private room."

"And a private room you shall get." Tyrion flicked his fingers together and Pod appeared from behind. "You can make all other arrangements to your liking and we start the lessons officially by morrow, I suppose."

"There are a few things we wish to discuss with you," Septa Loraine interjected, still holding the cup of tea so steady that Tyrion feared it might already be an illusion.

"Then let's discuss." He waved Podrick away and his squire left.

It was Septa Coral who spoke now. She interlaced her fingers together, probably so she wouldn't do anything else with them. She has a nervous disposition.

Tyrion could tell this by how often she blinks when she is speaking. "We were made aware of the living conditions the lady Sansa is subjected to."

"Who made you aware of that?"

"You, my lord," Septa Loraine smiled at him but it held no warmth.

"And what seemed to give it away?"

"Through certain things that slip from your perfect mask, my lord Lannister," she finally took a sip from her tea. She did not show whether or not she liked the taste as she held the cup on the level of her chest again. "Your concern for her welfare is one. But it's the way you talk about her mostly that tells me there is more to this arrangement than you lead us on."

Tyrion did not particularly enjoy being an open book but he still found it considerably flattering when someone could read him so easily.

"We would not dare speak ill of the lady's…engagement to the king," Septa Coral added, lowering her tone into a near whisper. "It is no secret, my lord, that he…his knights ritually beat her senseless…don't they?"

Tyrion heard her perfectly loud and clear but he guarded his tongue. They might be women of cloth but they haven't earned his trust yet. He knew that Septa Loraine sensed this but it struck him that she is not a woman so easy to dissuade. She placed the cup of tea back to the saucer with a measured calmness.

"A week ago, a handmaid came to the Baelor temple, seeking herbal remedies and at least a yard long of bandage," her voice never fluctuated once as she went on, "She also asked for an antiseptic, claiming that the wounds are deep and cannot clot fast enough for bandaging. They had to keep it open for a few hours then. Rubbing antiseptic on them prevents infection, as you may know." As soon as she paused, Septa Coral grabbed her own cup of tea and gulped down hard. Tyrion said nothing. There will be no protestation of ignorance from him. He waited for Septa Loraine to continue. "The septon at that time had to insist on knowing the condition of the injured even when the handmaid refused to disclose the identity."

 _Sansa Stark_ , Tyrion wanted to scream out. He allowed the septa to go on. "He wants to ensure that the treatment would suffice, of course. The handmaid replied that the wounds are critical but manageable as long as treated with the antiseptic and the herbal remedy she asked for."

_Sansa Stark with knife wounds on her wrists._

Tyrion almost wanted to puke. He stared down at his goblet instead.

"It only occurred to us who it was three days ago," Septa Coral intervened. "That incident at the throne room after Robb Stark seized a legion of the king's army, where King Joffrey had her displayed in the court and…one of his knights…" she could not finish and Tyrion was glad of it.

"You were there, my lord Lannister," Septa Loraine regarded him icily this time. "And you had rescued her, true, but since you sit here across us now, I conclude that you know as much as we do that your act of graciousness does not spare you from the wickedness your own blood inflicts on her."

She bore holes through him. "And this is your way to repent, is it not?"

He couldn't guard his tongue any longer. "I'm not doing this for forgiveness or for my frail-minded, insipid nephew." They've been speaking frankly now so he did not see the point of courtesies. It's time to call the monster as it is. "I'm doing this because…" _I want her, child or woman or whatever she is_. Tyrion tried to come up with something else to disguise the truth, "because I must. She needs protection." _I want her to come to me willingly_. "And I'm the only one who can provide it." _I want to comfort her, to make her laugh._  "She is to marry Joffrey, an unfortunate covenant I cannot intercede because it is beyond my power. But what I can control is to ease the blows she receives from Joffrey at every chance I get. She deserves that at least, and I am begging that you will aid me in improving her conditions."

It was Septa Coral who answered immediately. "Yes, my lord, whatever we can do for the poor girl."

"She's not a girl," Septa Loraine interjected. "A lady from a house of honor is more dignified than any of us will ever be."

Tyrion could feel a migraine taking over. He knit his eyebrows together and pushed himself from the table. "You will use the spare room across my chambers. It's spacious enough but also obscure from disturbance outside."

The septas stood up as well and bowed to him. Septa Coral said, "We thank you for the hospitality and warmth, Lord Tyrion."

"On the morrow, I hope to see you, Septa Loraine." Tyrion asked as he grabbed the goblet from the table and twirled it around his fingers.

The older septa nodded stiffly but did not utter another word to him as she walked behind Septa Coral towards the door. Tyrion watched them from where he stood and waited for them to close the door.

As soon as he was alone, he took a sip from his wine and then emptied his goblet on one of the luxurious rags. He watched as the fluid dripped into the surface and spread across the cloth, its color a sharp outline beneath him. A stain staring at him like a gaping hole soaked in red—

— _knife wounds_.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't Ser Meryn who struck her first this time. It was Ser Filmorr and his backhanded slap forced her crashing to the ground. Her new gown was too long and she struggled not to trip on it by the time the next blow landed on her stomach. There was no wall she could lean on or to help her stand so Sansa had to pick up herself by pushing her hands to the ground and lifting her body slowly. They always waited for her to stand. Joffrey must have commanded them to. The King was sitting atop the cobblestoned stairs near the grand entrance to the throne room. He was helping himself with a slice of orange as he looked on.

The fruit was half-peeled in his palm, its tender insides in view.

"I've missed you at supper last night, my love," he whispered as he pressed his thumbs on the orange and pulled out a piece. Sansa watched as he placed it on his mouth. Every nerve on her body was sensitive to any sensation by now that she could even feel his teeth chewing on the piece of fruit.

"The queen regent and your lord uncle asked for me to sup with them—"

"DO NOT FUCKING TALK BACK!"

Sansa bit down her tongue but Joffrey had nodded towards another knight, Ser Vontil, and he kicked at her chest. It wasn't hard enough to break her ribs but the pain was blinding just as well. She couldn't will herself to stand anymore. But she was still talking. She couldn't understand why.

"I w-w-wanted to see you too, m-my love, t-to, gaze upon your beauty and majesty and sh-sh-share your food and w-w-wine." Her voice was raspy and she was almost salivating as she spoke. It was hard to pronounce the lies when she's trying so hard not to puke out blood.

Joffrey approached her now and she tried not to wince as he knelt down and glared into her face. He raised his hand and squeezed the orange caught between his fingers. "I could cut you up and scatter your parts all over the castle, Stark." He threw the dried up orange across the floor behind her in anger and grabbed a fistful of her hair.

She whimpered but did not make a louder sound.

"How about I start ripping through that delicate dress of yours and have my knights grab both your ankles so I could stab my sword Hearteater into your dirty, ugly cunt!" With his hand still on her hair, he shoved her face to the floor and climbed behind her back. His fingers, still sleek with the fruit's juices, pulled at the laces of her gown.

Sansa did not understand his rage. Didn't the queen regent tell him that she had a valid excuse for her absence? Or was she the one who compelled her son's rough hands to abuse her? All throughout her dark contemplations, she only whimpered. She will not cry out even if her tears have saturated into the stone floor. When she felt the cold air sting her back, she thought about resisting then, but Ser Meryn, Ser Vontil and Ser Filmorr grabbed her arms so she will not fight the king.

Joffrey, still sitting on her back and clawing at her spine, kept pulling at the gown. The silk screamed as he tugged and tugged.

When he swept her garments completely off her ankles, he suddenly bit a portion of skin on her nape. Sansa still didn't cry out as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Her body squirmed under the pressure of the king's weight. She felt everything. A thousand sensations and emotions hurled past her head that the pain seemed to travel in several directions at once.

She focused on her wrists first—the wounds might start bleeding again. She looked up and blinked to regain the clarity of her sight. She saw the blank faces of the knights above her as their iron hands clasped around her arms to prevent any kind of movement. She could not see the blood but she knew it was there. Sansa kicked the air beneath her. It was a desperate action of escape she knew was futile.

And then she heard steel being unsheathed and the horrifying realization occurred to her. Hearteater, she thought. Instinctively, she pressed her thighs together. As soon as she did, her moon blood trickled down her legs. She could feel its sticky ooze like the juices on Joffrey's fingers from the orange fruit.

Sansa was almost about to faint but she willed herself, put every ounce of her strength, in keeping her eyes open and her mind alive.

"Turn her around!" Joffrey demanded.

When her position was shifted, Sansa rose to action then and began to kick at Joffrey. She didn't care if this would worsen his temper because when she met his eyes at this moment, she saw that he was going to kill her. He was truly going to stab his sword into her womb. Sansa kicked again even as Ser Filmorr moved to her legs and grabbed a hold of them.

Something in her snapped and she howled. The piercing sound escaped her throat and vibrated across the empty halls.

 _A wolf's call_ , she thought at the back of her head. It was the sound that her sister Arya used to imitate every time she ran off to the moors as Sansa chased her. Arya and her bad posture, unwashed feet and big doe-eyes; the way she puts her hands on the side of her mouth and howls, all unlady-like. Sansa reached her though, and they collapsed on the grass together, laughing.

She heard Joffrey laughing now.

"Look how pathetic she is, a little bird flapping her broken wings!"

_I am not a little bird. I am a Stark._

Sansa didn't know where her strength was coming from but she glared hard at Joffrey and shouted at him. "YOU WILL NOT BREAK ME!"

He was taken aback that he just stared at her for a few seconds. When he recovered, he raised Hearteater with the hilt of the sword on his eye level more deliberately than before. He was getting ready to plunge. Sansa did not close her eyes. She will watch him bring that sword down on her like the executioner did when he chopped off her father's head.

And Sansa will look into the monster's eyes this time.

 

* * *

 

It was the Hound who was running towards him as soon as Tyrion heard the scream. He was also running by then so he could meet the Hound halfway.

"The King has crossed a line he can never go back from," was what the Hound said as the two of them ran towards the source of the noise. Tyrion knew that Bronn and two of the Stormcrows were in pursuit as well.

The Hound moved ahead and turned to a corner that Tyrion recognized was the entrance to the throne room. As soon as he reached the corner, his whole body went numb at the sight of the atrocity. It was quickly followed by a strong surge of fury that boiled his veins and compelled him to move towards his little shit of a nephew, the incest spawn, and tackle him by the legs before he could kill Sansa Stark. He saw flashes of movements from the other men but no one held him back which meant that Bronn and the other Stormcrows got everything else under control.

But these were all afterthoughts. The moment they fell to the ground together, Tyrion was punching Joffrey everywhere. He wanted to pound this useless piece of space into nothingness and he didn't stop until Bronn pulled him away. He didn't care to see the result of his violence and immediately rushed to Sansa Stark.

The child was naked except for her smallclothes. She lay there, her wrists exposed, bleeding. There were stains of dried blood on her calves. She just lay there, staring above. Tyrion's eyes settled into her belly and he flinched and turned away when he saw that she was bleeding between her thighs as well.

Her red flower was still blooming. This made Tyrion want to hit Joffrey again but the Hound placed himself between them. He was still the captain of the personal guard. It was still his duty to protect the king. But when Tyrion met Clegane's eyes he saw there was anger and frustration in them too. He shouted at one of the Stormcrows to get the handmaids.

"My lady, my lady, shh, look at me…" he cupped her face between his hands. He was kneeling very close to her as he helped her sit up. As their eyes met, there was no one there looking back at him at all.

It was so easy to take her into his arms now, to pull her close and carry her away from the chaos of both their lives. But he did not dare it. He will not invade the holes like a parasite. That will make him worse than Joffrey.

Tyrion took her wrists with his hands and inspected them. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, "I'm very, very sorry…"

He didn't want to puke anymore. Tyrion wanted to cry instead.

He didn't notice the handmaids were already there until Shae gently placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered into his ear. "Let me take care of this, little lion." He nodded, but not truly understanding, as Bronn took his arm and helped him up to his feet. Shae and the other handmaids were helping Sansa as she struggled to walk in a steady pace, while Tyrion followed closely behind.

"You injured him pretty badly, Imp." Bronn was speaking.

Tyrion looked at where the sellsword was pointing his thumb at and saw Ser Meryn and the other two knights, all of them wounded, trailing behind the Hound who carried Joffrey in his arms. Cold dread crept into Tyrion's nerves. He would have to convince Cersei not to have him thrown off a cliff so he opted to go straight to her chambers now to appease her quickly.

"Where do you want us?" Bronn called out.

"The Stormcrows should be outside my sister's door," he answered, measuring every step. "You come inside with me in case she slits my throat."

 

* * *

 

He ducked away in time as Cersei smashed the vase into the opposite wall. Hysteria was a natural motherly reaction when one's son got beaten up by a brother one had always hated. Tyrion was not terrified of this, but rather in what comes after when she finally calms down and decides to retaliate in a crueller way.

"You are a monster!" she spat out and picked up the goblet this time and threw it at him with the same force as before.

Tyrion shielded himself by covering his face with his arms up, and the goblet scraped his elbows. He did not ask for Bronn's help just yet so the sellsword stayed on the far corner, awaiting directions and probably amusing himself with this confrontation. As his sister tried to look for other items to injure him with, he reasoned out. "I am not the monster here, Cersei! Your son has Sansa Stark punched and kicked around by his guards almost every day and today he tried to…" he was unable to finish the sentence because he was still trying to swallow his own anger.

Lord Varys was present, probably as counsel to Cersei and he did just that. His languid hands soothed his sister's shoulders, as if his compassion was sincere. He exchanged glances with Tyrion as he spoke to Cersei. "Your Grace, these are very upsetting circumstances, I agree—"

"He almost killed my son!"

"And His Grace almost killed the Stark girl as well—"

"Fuck Sansa! I should have put her head myself next to her father's!"

"And what of Ser Jaime, Your Grace? Please do not be hasty when it comes to such matters. If it's your heart that governs you then remember where it lies…" Lord Varys lowered his lips to Cersei's ear. "And does your heart not lie in seeing your twin brother alive and well again?"

Tyrion watched in silence as the spider's words took effect on his sister. Cersei's jaw relaxed and she now breathed in and out of her nostrils as calmly as she could. She was still unable to look at Tyrion as Lord Varys patted her back, consoling her by saying, "Joffrey will recover. His bruises will heal. The lady Sansa's injuries on the other hand—they're deeper than the skin by now."

"I do not care," his sister replied.

"Yes, but to successfully exchange our prisoner with theirs, we must ensure we return her in one piece." Lord Varys reasoned out. "Lest Robb Stark decide to abuse Ser Jaime in the same way the king abused his sister."

Cersei snapped her head towards the spider. "He would not dare…"

"The most heinous things ever committed have all been for the sake of love or family. Your Grace understands that more than anybody, I hope." Lord Varys nodded towards Tyrion's direction as if to say he has done his role, now it's time for him to show his cards. He took five steps closer to his sister. He felt Bronn walking behind him as well and expected that the sellsword will defend him in case Cersei decides to do something unthinkable. But his sister just stood there, looking at the ground, deep in thought. He could usually predict how she thinks under the circumstances to which he has control over, but the odds of this situation were not in his favor.

"Cersei," he spoke up, cautiously approaching her as she remained motionless. "I'm terribly sorry that I…hit him like that."

"You hit him so many times…" his sister's voice was mild.

"Have you seen Sansa Stark? Your son thinks her body is a canvass he can leave marks on whenever it pleases him. There are wounds in her wrists that wouldn't heal…the flesh is…" Tyrion tried not to imagine them again as he went on. "Her legs have purple smudges, bruising darkly and leaving ugly imprints." He paused, risking another step. Cersei still wouldn't look at him.

"And her back—did you know he had her whipped once?" His voice faltered at the last statement and he was afraid that his eyes might just tear up.

Cersei's silence was irritating him now so he added. "She will be his wife and she will be dutiful. Joffrey will never be kind to her though. He may just murder her before she could even bear him a son. Cersei, I know that you care just a bit for this girl's welfare…" he trailed off.  _Because you were like her once. Please remember…_

"Robert brought the children a kitten once," his sister spoke all of a sudden. "Joffrey played with it for a while. He was eight. And then one day I found it nailed on the back of the kitchen door while I was trying to look for him. I buried the animal myself and threatened everyone who knew not to breathe a word about it to Robert." She looked at Tyrion at last. "But Myrcella told. She loved that kitten. Robert hit Joffrey hard that it almost ripped his cheek apart."

Tyrion stared into his sister's eyes but wished he hadn't. A second passed. And then another. He broke the silence first. "You have to make sure he stays away from Sansa Stark until father arrives to King's Landing. He will know what to do with Joffrey then." He took a step back now.

"My son will be in bed for days after what you did."

Tyrion didn't know exactly what he did but he's glad it crippled Joffrey, which will provide him enough time to figure out a way to end his engagement with the Stark girl.

Cersei cocked her head to the side, her vigor and hatred for him returning now. "Perhaps that was your plan all along, to create a context where you can replace him temporarily on the Iron Throne and govern the matters of the state."

Tyrion opened his mouth. That did not occur to him. He was so consumed with advocating Sansa Stark's rights that it did not cross his mind that he might just have the perfect opportunity to do something about the city's ills.

"I am the queen regent, do not forget, brother." She regained her composure now and sneered at him. "You may sit on the throne for a few days but I will be by your side, and if you ever moved even a grubby toe towards an incitation of rebellion or whatever it is you are scheming about since you've been here…" she smiled now. "Not even father can save you from my wrath. Your debt is coming and you will pay it with whatever price I see fit."

Tyrion tried not to smile back. He had to make Cersei think she has complete authority over this. From behind her, Lord Varys regarded Tyrion with a knowing gaze. He looked at Cersei again and nodded.

"The Hand serves the king and protects the realm on his stead.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa didn't want to be touched. She made it perfectly clear by biting one of her handmaids earlier when she tried to dress her wounds. She even refused Shae who insisted to scrub the blood and apply antiseptic on them. Her behavior was unbecoming, she knew that. But Sansa stayed at the corner of her room, wrapped in her bed blankets, regarding every person in front of her suspiciously. Every time one of them tried to get close, she would bare her teeth and snarl.

She was no longer the Sansa whom Lady Catelyn and Septa Mordane raised to be a proper, good girl. Somewhere between the terror and pain, she was transformed into a vicious animal. She would like to believe that the soul of her direwolf Lady has taken possession and this was her vengeance in motion.

As she sat there, naked and bleeding beneath the blanket, it felt like she was experiencing the change separately, as if her mind was a floating entity watching over her body. This must be what madness feels like. You are sliced into two different people and only one of them could survive.

There was that person called Sansa who did everything that was asked of her, who can marry, have children, and live a prosperous life. That was the Sansa who had the capacity to be happy until the lions devoured her whole and spat out this other Sansa. This one was scooped hollow from within and rabid with despair. She was nude. She bled profusely. And she burned with the desire to gnaw people's faces.

After a while, she heard new footsteps and saw that it was Tyrion Lannister. His short legs always wobbled when he walked. His messy blond hair framed his face in the ugliest sort of way, emphasizing the ungodly colors of his mismatched eyes.

She hated him.

"My lady, may I come close?" he asked.

_Yes, come close. I will eat you._

He stayed where he was. He kept talking. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to see you earlier but I came here as soon I can and…oh, Sansa," he took a step. And then another. Somehow this terrified her again and she scooted into a corner and snarled at him. He spoke her name again and it worsened the desire to bite him. Tyrion was only a few yards away as he fixed his gaze on her. Sansa could see that his mind is working. Abruptly, he turned to everyone else behind him and said. "Leave us. I need time with her alone. Bronn, stay close to the door."

When it was just them left in the room at last, Sansa dared herself to leap at this dwarf and pin him down on the floor. She dared herself to sink her teeth into one of his eyes and tear it out. But something was holding her back, that stupid civility that was her upbringing; it was still the stronger inclination than the primal urge to kill one of the fiends who took everything away from her.

"Stop this," his voice was a whisper. "Stop this at once, Sansa Stark."

He was reprimanding her? Sansa snarled again.

He looked angry now. "I was standing there when I heard you say it. I saw Joffrey raise the sword and I heard it. Don't you remember? Do you remember what you said to Joffrey before he tried to…" he could not go on.

Sansa searched her memory of the event but it ached to recall it.

Tyrion Lannister's face softened now. "Is this going to be the way of things forever? Would I always find you in pieces, with me reaching out—" his hand extended towards her, "—but never able to prevent the worst from happening?"

Sansa did not even consider touching that filthy hand.

He began to approach again, his hand still outstretched. "I'm nothing like the rest of my family, Sansa. I am kind to you because I want to be your friend. I sent you that letter, do you recall? Tonight we are supposed to read Ser Dunk's adventures, that great noble knight from a simpler, happier time."

She tried to block him out but his words overflowed through her.

"You wrote to me first. You thanked my kindness." His rueful eyes were searching for hers. It was hard to look away from them. "You called me by name the night before."

His hand was on her cheek now. The softness of the touch stung so badly that it made her whimper. Tyrion Lannister closed the distance between them, placing his other hand on her shoulder. The fatigue overtook her in an instant. Her head crashed into his chest and she sobbed. The release weakened her so much that she was going to collapse but he held her just in time. She pulled away, shivering and sniveling with her eyes burning because of the tears. With her sight dazed by them, she could only see his face hazily. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips.

Tyrion Lannister's kindness was a force that kept crushing her soul until there was nothing left but gratitude and it filled the rest of her senses.

His arms wrapped protectively around her shoulders as he rested his chin on top of her head. The embrace was uneven because she could barely raise her arms any higher without feeling the sting of the wounds. She still clutched on the blankets as well, more aware of her nakedness now that his small but firm body was pressed against hers. As they stayed entangled, she wondered if she loved him—if she could ever love anyone now—and if this was his own declaration of love for her.

When he pulled away to look into her eyes again, she wondered if he was going to kiss her now, like in the songs when the princess is freed. But Sansa wondered if she even wanted him to kiss her.

For a while, they just stared at each other like that, keenly aware of the intimacy in their gazes and the discomfort that followed. When he leaned closer again, Sansa closed her eyes but the kiss did not come.

Instead he smiled at her and said. "You are not broken."

Sansa blinked the tears away. She was able to breathe again.

_I am a Stark._

* * *

 

 

_"I wake (up) to see that no one is free. We're all fugitives" ~Spies, Coldplay_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As trying as their circumstances have become, both Sansa and Tyrion realize that there may be a deeper connection between them, and how it's up to them to decide whether they allow it to bloom or wither.

* * *

 

**As High as Honor**

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa woke up from a nightmare which was worse than the ones she had before. There were ghouls above her, feasting on her body. Their rakish hands were clawing her chest, as if trying to shred her heart from within. She looked to the side, and saw a figure yards away from her. She writhed uncontrollably underneath the savagery happening above her, but her eyes were fixed on the figure. It was a man. He was kneeling with his head bowed. He whispered something into the air and she recognized that it was a prayer.

The man did not look at her as she lay there, but she knew who he was by now and she screamed at him.

"You lied!" Sansa was already gurgling blood but she still screamed at him. "You lied about everything!" The man still did not look at her.

Somehow there were no ghouls pressing down on her anymore so Sansa got up from the ground. She was now holding a sword somehow. She walked toward the man this time, gripping the sword with both hands. She cried out as she brought the blade down the man's neck. The sound pierced through her.

Sansa fell down from the bed, still screaming and sobbing.

"My lady," she heard a voice. She opened her eyes, and tried to breathe normally as she crouched in the corner close to the bed. She glanced to her right and saw Tyrion Lannister kneeling beside her with his hands rubbing the tension in her shoulders. It calmed her a little but there is no amount of comfort he could offer that will heal the wounds in her head. But Sansa still listened as he soothed her. "Nothing is going to harm you, my lady, not here, not ever, not when you're with me…"

Sansa was ready to believe every word if it can keep the nightmares away. She pressed her head on his chest, still weeping. As the minutes passed, she was beginning to regain her composure. She could breathe well again.

She almost forgot that she'd been leaning on him for a while until he spoke up once more. "Would you like something to eat?"

Their proximity, though not completely unwelcomed, embarrassed her. She slowly pulled away and sat up. Her eyelids felt heavy from the tears and the terror that assaulted her. She couldn't speak at first so she only gave him a hesitant nod.

Tyrion Lannister called out to his squire and asked for bread and poultry to be served. He was holding her, still trying his best to calm her. Sansa looked around this time and realized that she wasn't in her chambers.

She moved away from his touch then, regarding him with a questioning gaze. Tyrion Lannister gulped down hard and answered. "I didn't want to leave you alone."

Though she could see he had a point, it was still an invasion of her privacy. She could not be entirely furious about it, however, especially since it was definitely more than kindness that compelled him to rescue her. Something about it made sense to Sansa, but she was still afraid of him. She could never trust a Lannister especially not a cunning one with veiled intentions. But his touch was mild and there was nothing but sympathy and concern in those eyes. Sansa found herself responding to him with a bashful eagerness. He was the only person in this wretched place who goes out of his way to treat her with dignity and compassion after all. But for what purpose?

Sansa was a woman now. Her flower bloomed as she sat there with him. She could not be so naïve this time. It was possible that Tyrion Lannister coveted her. Why else would he go to such trouble just to protect her? But Sansa is not certain of the sincerity of his feelings. As a Lannister, it must all be a part of a great scheme somehow. It's best to be vigilant. She will not make the same mistake twice.

"I apologize if I took you here to my room," he began to explain. "Considering yesterday's events, I have to ensure your safety and welfare and I could only do that if you're always within my sight from now on." He paused to place his hand on her lap. "But I don't want to keep you here if it displeases you. As I've said before, you are free to do whatever you want. I'm not imposing my will on you."

Sansa stared at his face for a while as if she was memorizing every detail. It wasn't that difficult to look at him anymore. Whatever feelings she may have for him are still incomprehensible. She believed his words but was not convinced that there were no motives behind them. And yet if she had a choice, she would prefer to be in his company, knowing that he is not going to abuse her the way Joffrey did. And if she was being entirely honest, Sansa admitted that she liked the way he looked at her; like she was a treasure, the most valuable thing he ever laid eyes on.

Her father used to look at her that way.

_Eddard Stark._

_The falling axe._

_The blood spray on her gown._

Her thighs quivered as she felt her red flower ooze.

Determined to shake herself free from the clutches of the nightmare earlier, Sansa grabbed one of Tyrion Lannister's wrist. She held on, counting her heartbeat until it slowed down. On his part, he kept his other hand on her shoulder, not wanting to disturb her. She had her eyes closed for a while. As soon as she opened them, she was once again surprised by the ease in which the proximity between them remained. He still looked at her with concern and said nothing about the way she held him, not even when she slid her fingers to intertwine with his which escaped her notice until she saw him glance at their hands now pressed together.

They caught each other's gaze and Sansa felt her cheeks burn.

Was she starting to enjoy the attention? Was this something women think about when men are protective of them, when men seek their affections and favor? Sansa felt confused. She didn't like these feelings. She knew that her growing dependence on him would only weaken her resolve. But relying on his protection would still be a better option than being beaten to death, she supposed. Sansa wondered if she's coy enough to play along.

Clearing his throat, Tyrion Lannister moved away from her. Their hands remained clasped together as she picked herself up from the floor with his help. The difference in their heights bothered her for a new reason this time. Sansa understood clearly that he is dependable and despite his stature she could truly lean on him. It does not, however, appear physically possible when they stand next to each other like this.

But why would she even consider leaning on him?

She remembered that she once helped him up when he was drunk, and the way he fit in her arms like a child. The memory made her more uncomfortable, especially since he was still watching her with those terribly compassionate eyes.

"My lady," he began, slowly withdrawing his hand from her grasp. "In a few hours from now you shall have your lessons. I've requested for the services of two septas and they will be helping you study arithmetic and music. I sincerely hope such educational pursuits will…lessen the weight of the horrors you have suffered."

 _And continue to suffer,_  Sansa thought as she nodded compliantly.

The squire has returned with her handmaiden Shae and the two of them prepared the table. Tyrion Lannister pulled a chair for her to sit on. Once both of them are seated and facing each other from the opposite side, Shae filled her plate with food which Sansa only stared down at, not at all feeling particularly hungry. But she kept her eyes on the plate, wishing to elude Tyrion Lannister who still gazed upon her without saying a word. She was familiar how conversations come naturally to him but the circumstances they've found themselves in proved to be difficult to talk about. They are also both burdened by the knowledge that they are meant to be enemies and more blood is yet to be shed among their families.

Inside these concealed quarters where her own father used to sleep in when he was Hand, Sansa knew how mortifying it must be for Tyrion Lannister himself. He was breaking fast with the daughter of said traitor as proclaimed by his nephew the King.

The very same king who tried to put a sword in her hours ago.

 _Is this going to be the way of things forever? Would I always find you in pieces, with me reaching out but never able to prevent the worst from happening?_ Sansa didn't know how to answer that question of his earlier. She decided to focus on the food right now so he wouldn't suspect that something was amiss.

"How are the eggs?" He finally spoke.

"Well-cooked, my lord," was her ready reply.

"I was hoping it would be fish this time. Pod?"

His squire answered. "Drought is upon us. Fish is hard to come by, lord Hand."

Tyrion Lannister looked displeased with that information. "Alas, it starts with a drought. Has Bronn carried out his duty to measure rations for the city food supply?"

"I have relayed your message three days ago, my lord." Pod answered as he poured fresh wine on their cups. Sansa opened her mouth to protest but her handmaid Shae, always so intuitive, had taken the cup away herself. Sansa glanced at her and smiled weakly and her handmaiden smiled back although she also took note of how weary she looked. And then she recalled the exhausting ordeal she had her go through last night with her scathing behavior and...the biting. Once she got back to her chambers, she must apologize to Shae.

Sansa wished she didn't remember being so unlady-like earlier. Thinking about that as she chewed on her food also brought back the memory of Tyrion Lannister being so close to her; of the way he took her in his arms; of how in that brief moment of need and desperation, she thought he might kiss her.

_And I might have allowed it._

Sansa forbade herself to go there. She swallowed and took her cup to quench her thirst because her throat began to feel dry as well. She glimpsed at the man who had plagued her contemplations with impurities. Fortunately he was still having a conversation with his squire. When Sansa looked across Shae, she found her handmaiden was still staring at her.

"More water, my lady?"

Sansa nodded and allowed Shae to fill her cup. As she was about to drink from its cusp, she glanced at Tyrion Lannister and found his gaze upon her once more. She could not meet his eyes anymore, not after everything, and the way she was beginning to feel differently about him. Was he starting to suspect something has changed? She silently prayed to the seven that he did not.

 

* * *

 

After they have finished their meal, Tyrion Lannister got the table cleaned and then he sent the servants away. They still sat across each other in uncomfortable silence as Sansa watched him tap his fingers on the table.

"My lady," he began. "I would like to accompany you during your lessons but I will be otherwise engaged with city business. Besides, it would be wise if I allowed you some space to collect your bearings."

He paused, a sheepish smile crossed his features. "I also think you may have seen too much of me for one night."

Sansa blinked, unsure of his meaning. She found herself glancing towards the bed now and wondered if he had lain next to her the whole time while she slept. Considering that possibility made her blush. When she turned away, she realized that he had followed her stare and must have seen the scandalous assumption transform the expression in her face. He looked embarrassed now.

"I-I did not mean that, my lady," he hurriedly corrected. He turned his attention towards the window and added. "I was reading there while I watched over you."

Sansa shook her head. "Forgive me if I caused you shame. I did not wish to imply any sort of indecency on your part."

"Well, as long as you don't believe I was ever capable of..." He trailed off. It was the first time she had seen him so rattled.

Coughing, he reached out for his goblet and finished his wine before he spoke again. "I do not want you to misunderstand my intentions."

"No, I do not misunderstand, my lord." Sansa remarked, looking down on her own empty cup. "You are kind to me."

 _But it's because you desire me._  Sansa was beginning to feel slightly warm. She fought the urge to pull her collar to allow her neck some air. She did not want to expose her flesh in sight as well, afraid that it might just tempt him. She is not ignorant with the ways of men, especially not after the riot where some peasants almost had their way with her.

 _"Have you ever been fucked, little girl?"_ One of them asked callously as he pressed his weight on top of her.

She closed her eyes and prayed it would be over soon.

"Sansa?"

Tyrion Lannister looked worried again. He got out of his chair so he could approach her. He stopped short, perhaps realizing that she might consider him intrusive. He had started to take caution with the way he would conduct any kind of contact between them which meant that Sansa was not concealing herself as well as she thought. She did not want him thinking that she is well-aware of the tension growing between them especially since she hasn't figured out what it is yet.

Against her instincts, she reached out a hand to take his. The gesture was risky and out in the open that Sansa dreaded the reaction it would incite from him. Tyrion Lannister did not grip her hand immediately. It seemed to her that he was preoccupied presently on trying to figure out the change in her disposition.

Sansa dared to meet his gaze now. She allowed him to glimpse into her thoughts, trusting that whatever he reads would not be something he would use against her. This could be a test of his sincerity; an easy way for Sansa to see if his offer of friendship truly comes from good intentions. If she was learning to let her guard down around him then she had to be sure she wouldn't endanger her heart once more.

For a moment he just stared as if waiting for her to make the next move. They were almost on the same level of height as she sat before him like this. A few seconds passed before he began to lean close towards her.

_Is he going to...?_

Sansa disobeyed better judgment and responded to his movements, mirroring them without even thinking.

Should she...?

Those mismatched eyes were doing something to her. As soon as she felt his breath on her lips, her eyes closed on their own. Her other hand was raised as well, hovering above his cheek, ready to keep him in place just as soon as he seals the kiss. Their noses had already brushed against each other when Tyrion Lannister pulled away, somehow finding the strength to reject the temptation.

With that, Sansa felt like she betrayed herself. She let his hand go and looked away. But this also meant he passed the test.

"My lady, forgive my insolence, I never should have-I only wanted..." He let out a sigh. "I only wanted to care for you.

Sansa nodded, understanding now more than ever the kind of effect she has on him and that she was villainous for trying to use that against him. "There is nothing to apologize for, my lord," she answered unexpectedly calmly.

He eyed her suspiciously this time. Taking a few steps back, he replied. "Was this...a test, Lady Stark?"

The fact that he resorted back to formality did not escape her. She wounded him. But she had to hold her ground. "Can you blame me for trying to make sure you are not playing me as the queen regent has done?" The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted it. It was unlike her to forget courtesies. The events from last night might have lingered more than she allowed them to. In which case, she decided to guard her tongue again.

Curiously enough, Tyrion Lannister didn't seem offended. He must have succeeded gauging a reaction from her after all and that outweighed the trickery she subjected him to. He regarded her with a smile. "My sweet lady Sansa, I will never underestimate you again. You have survived us so far. That certainly warrants my respect." He bowed his head slightly.

When he gazed into her eyes again, he muttered softly, "I understand your apprehension, but I will say it once more, my lady; I am neither Joffrey nor my sister. I want to earn your trust because I believe I could get you out of harm's way. All you have to do is let me try."

Sansa said nothing. She exposed herself a lot for today. She could not afford any more unraveling. "My lessons then?" She inquired in order to change the subject. "Your lordship explained that I'm to study arithmetic then music in the afternoon."

Tyrion Lannister nodded and then started walking toward the window to pick up a book. He walked back to her and handed it. Sansa stared at it for a while to read its title. In faded gold letters, it bore the name of the knight he fondly talked about days ago. She placed her hands around it and thanked him for the generosity.

"Pod will escort you and your handmaiden Sheila to the study room. It's just near these chambers but hidden to those who have no business in it."

Sansa thanked him again, this time for his graciousness. She stood up, clutching the book against her chest. He stayed behind, waving his hand at her. There was a tight smile on his lips as he watched her leave.

 

* * *

 

She was only fourteen years old, and Tyrion almost kissed her. The child needed a guardian, not a lover, and yet he willfully and irresponsibly entertained the latter's probability because of the unspeakable want he was beginning to feel for the girl. But she admitted to the seduction on her part, all for the sake of testing the purity of his motivations. He didn't know what strength of mind or body enabled him to resist her earlier, but Tyrion will not stand a hypocrite and deny that he would have claimed her as his if the opportunity presents itself again. He warned himself that there should never be a next time. He had to do everything in his power to lessen their interactions then—and yet he worries for her welfare if he stayed away and allowed Joffrey to get his cruel hands on her again.

But Tyrion was weak when it came to beautiful women, and Sansa Stark was blooming into one every single day. How could he hope to protect her from monsters if he can't even protect her from himself?

Tyrion walked with Bronn at his side and a Stormcrow in front of him as they entered the marketplace. He asked Bronn. "How fares our city, lord commander?"

"I'm working on the thievery as we speak. But the sheep know what's good for them by now since the riot, and my job has been easier too."

The sellsword grinned, indicating that he had other motives Tyrion needs to keep in check by fattening his purse.

"And the rations?"

"Being followed through as commanded. That is why I wanted to get rid of the pests so they don't get their grubby hands on the city's belly and tear their way through it." The sellsword spat on the ground to make emphasis of his point.

Tyrion let out a dismissive sigh. "I hope you would solve the infestation of these pests with however you see fit." He glanced at Bronn with an authoritative gaze. "But handle them without unnecessary bloodshed. We do not want another riot. The people already believe me a demon monkey. Let us not offer them a truthful testimony through a brutal display. Am I clear?"

"Aye, little lion, I am your word and will." The sarcasm made Tyrion snicker. He did not really trust Bronn, but he was capable and clever in his own way, and Tyrion liked to surround himself with cunning opportunists as long as they don't turn on him. Speaking of which...

"Any news from Renly's camp?"

"Littlefinger sent word. I asked Podrick to read the letter. It said that he was successful in returning the bones to Catelyn Stark. He awaits further instructions as long as you make it quick."

"Hmmm," Tyrion paused as he watched some of the city guards enter a brothel. He looked at Bronn. "I suppose the peace is well-kept that your men can find time for leisure?" He was in no position to judge. He would've indulged himself if he already didn't have a whore he exclusively sleeps with. He remembered the way Shae looked at him as he attended to Sansa last night. He wondered if she was jealous.

Bronn must have been reading his mind. "Have yourself another tart once in a while, Tyrion. It must be tiresome to have the same cunt almost every day."  
"I'm in a monogamous arrangement with my tart, Bronn. I do not mind having her cunt over and over."

Bronn laughed. The Stormcrow in front of them also cackled.

Tyrion allowed himself a smile, forgetting for a while how the last three days had taken a toll on him. Aside from important Hand business, he also wanted to get out of the castle. He did not fear Cersei, but he hardly believed he had enough energy left to suffer through her insidious wrath. He also didn't want her to know that he regretted nothing. His little shit of a nephew deserved that beating. Jaime would have concurred himself. Thinking about their estranged brother again gave Tyrion a melancholic streak he couldn't shrug off easily. He was in a particularly grieving mood as he went about his tasks, supervising the tax collection and the gathering of crops all afternoon with Bronn. He was in no hurry to get back to Red Keep at all, somewhat enjoying his new responsibilities and preoccupations fulfilling in some ways, especially the authority and freedom they give him.

Once or twice during the course of his activities, Tyrion's thoughts would turn inward to Sansa Stark, and it didn't upset him to think about her as it did in the morning after that shameful incident. He understood why he desired her but was not brave enough to confront it before. It wasn't her flesh that he craved. That might only be secondary, merely a visceral longing from a dwarf who aspires to acquire the things denied from him because he was born a certain way.

What he desired from Sansa Stark was family.

There is a huge piece of her that remains untarnished even after everything his own family had put her through. Seeing that shine through her hungered him in a way that haunted him at night. He envied what she had growing up; the warmth and the affection she never lacked from her parents and siblings; her courage to dream impossible fantasies; her hopeful innocence which he sought to preserve the most. This was why he wanted to be around her. He was hoping to taste a piece of that goodness that was selfishly ripped out of him since his very birth.

He desired for her like he would desire a phantom mother and all that lied beneath the other side of the reflection a beautiful youth such as hers possesses. He wanted family. He wanted home. Power was the only strategy to get him there, and though he played the game well so far, he was not sure he wanted the seven kingdoms for himself. Robert Baratheon had that and they provided him no means of happiness.

But what use would it be to have Westeros at your feet when there was no one who loves you that you can share it with?

Tyrion laughed at himself. What sort of Lannister would he be if he did not want power? He must stay vigilant from now on so that absolutely no one will be able to gain knowledge of what his heart calls for the most, or he might just lose the game to more savage contenders. He was only starting to enjoy himself after all.

 

* * *

 

He had gotten back to his chambers that night, walking by himself on the corridors with a candle on hand. Tyrion was drained for the day and he wobbled more than usual as he tried to reach the bed. To his surprise, Sansa Stark was already lying on the mattress fast asleep, clutching the book beside her in an almost protective gesture. There were no words to describe what he felt upon gazing at her again in this well-deserved repose. Absurdly quixotic as it may be, but Tyrion wanted to dedicate his life with a purpose of making sure she is cared for while still being a warden of the Lannisters. But what else could he hope to save once she becomes Joffrey's queen someday? He could not bring himself to ponder on the marital abuse she will have to bear through again until the innocence he admired about her will soon wither and be replaced by something dark and desolate; the very same things he saw every time he crossed paths with his sister.

No, he could not let Sansa Stark become the next Cersei.

Tyrion crossed the bed to reach the large window. He decided that he could sleep on it again since he's already used to finding himself awaken from it. Besides, he can watch Sansa Stark better in this angle just like the night before. He expected that she'll be screaming again because of the atrocities that suffocate her in her slumber, but an hour has passed and she looked quite content. It was the first time he saw her at peace and Tyrion prayed to the gods, old and new, that this beautiful child could endure and thrive even with the harshest of winters almost at their doorstep. He also prayed he too would have the strength to survive it.

The candle was near extinguished when Tyrion finally closed his eyes. The very last thing he saw was Sansa Stark facing him, her lips bearing a hint of smile. She pulled the book close to her chest and sighed, murmuring something to herself. Tyrion wondered if she was dreaming of Ser Dunk. If she was, he hoped for her safe voyage as she rides away with the brave knight back to her childhood home.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 _"Now our lives are changing fast, hoping for something purer can last" ~We used to wait,_ Arcade Fire


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa suffers from survivor's guilt, Tyrion prepares for war, and some things just keep driving them together than apart.

* * *

  

**We do not sow**

 

* * *

 

 

Septa Lorraine was a difficult woman to please. Her patience defines her the most, but she also had incredible discipline and grace that Sansa believed to be unmatched by any woman. She also doesn't seem to approve of Sansa entirely. It wounded her so, since Sansa thought she was the best pupil that septas from Winterfell had daunted over since she was growing up, especially the late Septa Mordane. Thinking about her former teacher dampened her disposition so she tried to focus on her needlework, careful never to show Septa Lorraine that she was in a grave mood. In the middle of her task, the septa sat across her, waiting. She watched Sansa knit and it got slightly unnerving after awhile. She wondered why this was her lesson today. Wasn't she supposed to learn arithmetic?

Once Sansa has finished, she showed it to Septa Lorraine. The older woman only glanced briefly at it and then she pointed a finger on the hemlines and said. "That is quite a clumsy stitch, Lady Stark."

For the first time in years Sansa felt embarrassed about her needlework. She wasn't even sure what she said or did to deserve this unfair treatment. But when she looked down at where the septa was pointing at, she finally saw the stitch she was indicating. Her eyes widened as she traced the ugly stitch with her little finger. It lay there on the cloth, crudely mocking her. She couldn't even appreciate the finished product now that this ugly stitch was woven into the perfect yellow strings. She carefully placed it down and was unable to meet Septa Lorraine's gaze.

"Do you understand now, Lady Stark?" she inquired.

She did not.

Septa Lorraine frowned. "You haven't been practicing."

"No, forgive me, I have not."

"There is nothing to forgive," the septa answered. Her voice was quiet and distant and bereft of any warmth that sometimes it feels like she was speaking to Sansa from a mountaintop. "Needlework requires attention for the smallest details. Failing to do that will produce inaccuracy. Arithmetic is the same."

Sansa couldn't hold her tongue. "I thought needlework is expression of self."

Septa Lorraine smiled at last but it was sharp and looked wrong on her face. "Arithmetic is also," she simply replied.

Sansa let out a soft sigh. Her irritation is rising and it was unbecoming of a lady so she began to count in her head to soothe herself.

"Counting in your head?" The septa pointed out which made Sansa stare at her in shock. "Don't be surprised that I know what you're doing. You're taught well. You learn your lessons quick. Counting in your head when you feel stressed or angry is a technique passed on to many noble ladies like yourself."

"Forgive me, I did not intend to—"

"Get angry?" Septa Lorraine still smiled but it had no mirth to it. "I've been teaching noble girls for almost two decades. I'm accustomed to their slyness and disguised impudence through false courtesies and double-edged obedience."

"Septa Lorraine, please, I wasn't—"

"Lady Stark, please do not interrupt me when I'm still about to arrive to my point," she added. Hearing this, Sansa kept her mouth shut. Septa Lorraine interlaced her fingers together in an almost calm repose. "It's not improper to feel horrible things, and speaking them out loud is just as brave as having them. A thing I must recommend to all women I come across." She regarded Sansa with a steady gaze.

Sansa tried not to look away. She was too afraid anyway.

"But you keep yours away from view even if it means you have to endure the way your tears burn when you save them for the night. That takes strength."

Septa Lorraine stood up and faced the balcony. Her hands were behind her, one holding the other with comfortable ease.

"I know of the burden you carry, Lady Stark. You are not the first girl in history to watch the spring of her youth turn black. I say these things so you will understand what your lessons with me entail."

Sansa listened well as she held her breath.

"Arithmetic is expression of self," the septa went on. "A lady of the house must learn which things she must instill value to with a coin. The finances of her lord husband's estate are her obligation. She must take precautions with budgets, excesses and frugal habits. The success of such endeavors will speak volumes to her character. In this way, she will demonstrate the best qualities of a true noble lady."

The septa paused and then she went on. "Not all women are the same, I'm afraid, yet all of us are weaving the same threads and when these come together, they become a singular pattern that is unique to each of us."

"Expression of self," Sansa murmured under her breath. She's beginning to understand. She kept her eyes downcast, admiring the gleam of the sunlight in her needles. They possess a viciousness about them that pacified her.

Septa Lorraine faced her again. Her expression seemed to soften but Sansa thought that maybe it was merely caused by the light behind her. "Lord Tyrion is a gracious benefactor. He conveyed his concerns for you in a manner that's risky and could hurt his other interests."

Sansa responded before she could help herself. "Charity always does."

"Oh? You think he has done you goodness out of charity?"

"I cannot be sure, septa."

"He is a Lannister. Are you not sure of that as well?"

She opened her mouth but was unable to come up with words sufficient enough to articulate what she thinks—especially what she feels about him.

He is a Lannister…is she no longer sure of that?

She had shared his chamber for two nights now and it served almost like a haven. She had slept in the bed where her father must have lain. She could not smell him on the sheets, however. She could not even remember his scent. Or the way he smiled, which was rarely. And then Sansa woke up to see Tyrion Lannister reading by the window earlier. She didn't make a sound and watched him for some time until he took notice. There was something about that smile he displayed, the way it framed his face, the way it instantly diminished the heaviness that surrounded them.

Sansa became more aware at that moment how there was only a thin veil between them in the moments when they're alone together, and if either of them wished it, they could as easily cast it aside. And then…

Septa Lorraine began to speak again as she held out some parchments that Sansa reached to get. "You will be answering a series of written equations for the first hour of our lesson today. They're basics and I hope you're brushed up on them."

"I am," Sansa answered although she wasn't feeling confident enough.

Septa Lorraine sat down and asked her to open them. "Consider these equations your most valuable companions. They are exact and sensible. They will only elude you if you don't learn to enjoy them."

"Yes, septa." Sansa placed down the needles on the table. She picked up the quill on her left as she read the numbers. "Thank you, septa."

 

* * *

 

Sansa's palms itched to turn another page of Ser Dunk's adventures once more. She had never been so engrossed in the pleasure of reading before unless they were scrolls about songs. It was a very relaxing experience to immerse herself in the brave knight's beautiful stories. They were quite funny too, and Sansa hadn't laughed in what felt like a lifetime. She supposed she has Lord Tyrion to thank for that.

Sansa tested the new way she acknowledged him in her thoughts. _Tyrion, his lordship_ , she thought. _Lord Tyrion, my benefactor_. That one didn't seem appropriate. He paid for her education now but something about the term struck Sansa as disturbing. She couldn't figure out what.

She realized that it would be better to think less about his lineage as a lion as much as she could. It was merely a last name that he shared with Queen Cersei and Joffrey. Sansa tried to convince herself that him being a Lannister meant little, but she was still a Stark of Winterfell and that will always matter to her. _And he remained the kin of the monster who killed my father. His kindness should not be enough to make me forget that._

And yet whenever she's around him—and he would look at her with a gaze that speaks to her soul like no other—she wished that his compassion was indeed enough for her to forget everything.

_Oh, why would I wish that?_

There should never be anything more valuable than family.

Hasn't she learned that the hard way already?

"Lady Stark, please focus." Septa Lorraine spoke from behind her.

She nodded and dutifully scribbled her solutions to the equations before her. Septa Lorraine was right about the numbers. With the events of her life in King's Landing darkening every day, her lessons may be the only thing that make sense.

 

* * *

 

"A great beauty?" Shae looked positively livid as she spat out the phrase. "Is that what you think of our lady Sansa?"

"Our lady Sansa?" Tyrion shot back.

Shae crossed her arms in front of her. "We take care of her. She's ours."

"Like she's our own child?" Tyrion dared to laugh at that.

Shae narrowed her eyes at him. "She has flowered. Maybe that's why it's…" she reached for his breeches and grabbed his cock. "…hard for you now."

Tyrion felt utterly disgusted by the implication even if there was a semblance of truth to it. He couldn't let Shae know that. He squeezed her breast to stress a point. "I never get hard for any woman anymore but you."

Shae looks unconvinced, however. She wore the same irritable expression as she unlaced his breeches and knelt down. "Everyone is taking notice of the lady Sansa. You especially, even the Hound."

"The Hound?" Tyrion didn't like that. The Clegane brothers were known for their ruthlessness and deprived acts of violence. Though Sandor Clegane, his shit of a nephew's guard dog, had been domesticated for years, the same malice lurked underneath his Kingsguard armor. If he had been taking special notice of the Stark girl, then Tyrion should find a way to divert that attention to something more useful.

"What is wrong?" Shae asked as she pulled him out of her mouth.

"I was just thinking."

"Oh? Am I distracting you from that?" Her grip on his cock was ominous.

"No, not at all. Please. I was feeling so good already…"

"I don't believe you," Shae tightened her clutch. Her jealousy made her cheeks flush and he had never seen her this possessive of him until now. It chilled his bones. Is this still all part of the act? She was his whore and they've agreed on the terms of arrangement long before. She must embody paramour rather than prostitute, and share his bed and listen to the events of his day like a woman who is devoted to her husband. Tyrion looked at her now and instantly felt the sting of distrust. She couldn't genuinely love him now, could she? This was still part of the act. And yet Shae's jealousy seemed real enough. Or perhaps because of her poor upbringing, she feels threatened and insecure that a noble lady like Sansa Stark can take that away all that she had worked hard for so easily. Is that it?

Tyrion frowned. Why should he entertain such follies? Did he fancy himself caught between the love and desire of two beautiful girls this time?  _You pitiful imp_ , he told himself. This had always happened. Sometimes when atop a horse, he forgot what limited height he could only measure himself with. He might bear the Lannister name, making him a part of the richest family in Westeros—but that was utterly meaningless, given the way his sister and own father could afford to treat him less than.

He put his hand at the back of Shae's head, urging her to satiate him. Even though she still looked annoyed, Shae complied and buried her mouth around his manhood. Tyrion tried to focus on the pleasurable sensation vibrating throughout his senses. He allowed his fingers to slide through Shae's raven hair and tried to enjoy the softness of its caress against his palm. As he closed his eyes, he immediately thought of Sansa Stark—the lady—no, a child—and he quickly shoved the thoughts of her away. But she hovered above him nevertheless as he stood there, being serviced by his whore (and out in the open too, this can't happen again). It surprised him that he thought of her not as something to further ignite the troubling lust in his loins. He was thinking about what she could be doing now, and when he could see her again so they might perhaps talk about Ser Dunk. Tyrion sighed as he could feel his release building up. He stopped thinking about the Stark girl then and murmured Shae's name as he came into her mouth. She pulled away and shot him another glare. This time she didn't swallow. She made a point to stand up and spit it out the window. Tyrion was starting to get annoyed but he did not speak it aloud. He laced his crotch as he watched Shae walk away from him. He called after her.

"I wish not to cause any more reason to displease you, sweetling," he said. "Tell me what I can do to earn your affections again."

Shae turned around. For a while she just looked at him before she finally said. "If you want to take care of Sansa, you won't let her marry the king."

He blinked at that. "There is only so much I could do to help her."

"Then you're not trying hard enough."

Puzzled, he asked. "So you truly are concerned for the girl's welfare?"

Shae gave him a cold stare. "I had an older sister before. I have never seen her after we left our village. The last time we talked, she had just flowered. And then she was shipped off by our aunt." She paused. "In a way, I do know how it feels to have no power or control over the things that happen to you."

Tyrion took her hand. "Well," he remarked. "Don't we all?"

 

* * *

 

After her lessons in the morning, Sansa decided to walk back to her chambers, carrying her needles and scrolls filled with answered equations. She was looking forward for the afternoon lessons in music later. As she was near the threshold that leads to the staircase, she noticed that there was someone behind one of the poles. She slowed down to merely glance who it was and then she recognized that it was Lord Tyrion. She stopped walking and quietly approached, not wishing to alarm him. She wanted to express her gratitude for everything he had done for her in this week alone. Without thinking much about it, Sansa run a hand through her hair to smoothen any tangle. She stroked the front of her skirts for any wrinkles as well. She wondered if she should smile. She didn't want him to see her grim or he might not believe that she was sincere. It should be easier between them now.

As she reached him, she heard him groan and say something. Whatever it was, she didn't approach further. There was something about his manners that made her cautious of what to do next. She was close enough to see Lord Tyrion leaning against the wall with his eyes shut tightly and his mouth slightly open. His breathing sounded strange, as if he had been running. She took more steps closer, wondering what to say to him in case he sees her.

Sansa stopped when she saw his hand gripping someone's hair. That someone was kneeling in front of him and…

She found her hands balling into fists as soon as she understood what was happening. She was unable to make sense of it at first, but she was not as ignorant as everyone thinks, and certainly not in matters of…amorous displays between lovers. Sansa felt her cheeks melting as she placed a hand on her mouth, afraid that she might utter a sound that would draw his attention.

She shouldn't stay here and watch and yet she was terrified to move an inch. She should hurry but her skirts might make sweeping motions which could catch his eye. So she opted to take a step backward. Sansa should not be looking anymore but found her gaze fixed at his face especially when she saw the expression on it as he let out what sounded like a satisfied groan.

 _Does that mean it's over?_  Sansa shouldn't ponder that as well.

Fearing to see something else she might deeply regret, Sansa quickly bent down to take off her shoes. She held them together with one hand while the other gripped her skirts as she run up the staircase. Because she was barefoot, it allowed her to go away in silence. As soon as reached the top, she pushed the wooden doors open and collapsed to her bed, burying her face on the pillows. She was still clutching her shoes as she tried not to think about what she saw.

To her horror, she suddenly felt her red flower trickled down, and the sensation rattled her, making her feel disgusted about her body for the first time. She sat up and squeezed her thighs together, wishing she could forget everything.

She could still feel the terror and panic caught in her throat so she tried to relax. How could she hope to face him again after witnessing that?

Sansa stared down at her shoes, trying to erase the image in her head before it became too etched in her mind. She hardly saw anything, anyway. In fact, she could be wrong. It might be some trick of light—a hallucination…

 _"Have you ever been fucked, little girl?_ " she thought of that awful memory again and felt even worse than she already is now.

Sansa laid back down on the bed and squeezed her eyes shut. She should know better than to get frazzled like this. Everyone always told her that she has a delicate constitution. Even during the warmest day she could somehow catch a cold and stay bed-ridden for days. Maester Luwin said that sometimes her sickness may derive from her being so agitated and worrisome, when not fanciful and left to her own daydreams. Sansa never particularly liked going outdoors and would rather stay inside her chambers unless the septa invites her for needlework and cake somewhere in the halls of Winterfell. There she was accompanied by servants who were around fifteen or seventeen year old girls at the time when she was only nine. Every time the septa left them alone, they would whisper naughty things to each other. Sansa knew that the content of their conversations is unbecoming of ladies, given with the way they giggled and sat with their legs half-open and their skirts slightly raised above their knees. She resented their coquettishness but at night she would pray that the seven would not punish them for their wicked ways.

As she got older and better at deciphering their speech, she realized the truth in their innuendoes and found herself envying the certain escapades they participated along with the men-folk from the farming areas. They talked about such things lovingly as if they were weaving them with the prickly end of a needle that pierces naturally through the velvet white fabric until a complete design would emerge. Sansa looked across these girls one time and found that their needlework was deliberately hasty because they were so caught up in their fantasies. She felt lost in their decadent reverie this time and found courage to dream though her dreams were a lot different than theirs. She dreamed of love like the ones from the songs, of a prince ever so charming to take her to the altar and promises her eternal devotion until the end of their days. She dreamt of luxurious castles filled with brave knights, of tending to a garden filled with abundant flowers that never wither or die.

She was nine years old then. Sansa opened her eyes now and found them wet. She turned to the side and tried not to weep as she understood now that she had always been a foolish little thing. She should have run off with a farm boy like one of those girls if only she knew then the future only led to put her in a cage. She should have sought happiness in simpler things, but she was a noble lady of the North, the eldest Stark daughter of Winterfell. Her lord father said she was meant to have everything and so everything was what she dreamed and prayed for.

Sansa wasn't sure why she was grieving about that again. She supposed it's better than thinking about the other things happening to her, especially anything to do with Lord Tyrion—and the look on his face as he…

She covered her face with her hands. There was something inherently wrong of thinking about it. She should focus on something else.

She laid there with her hands clasped together now, praying to the gods of her mother and even to the godswood of her father to keep Joffrey in bed. If the gods can claim his brother Bran's legs then she wished for Joffrey never to walk again as well. She prayed for someone to keep Robb strong through the battles he faced and for her mother Lady Catelyn to have lesser nightmares. She prayed that Rickon grows taller so he can protect himself, and Arya to be alive, and to possess the speed to run away if the darkness comes too close to her at night. She even prayed for her bastard brother Jon Snow, asking the gods that if he's lying injured on a snowy slope beyond the Wall, that they grant him wings so he could fly off safely back home.

 _Back home at Winterfell,_ she prayed,  _is where my father's bones should be, buried next to his kin, with his beloved sister Lyanna._

In her mind, she saw the axe falling over his head like a thousand times before, and his legs—she couldn't stop looking at his legs, and the way they twitched…

_Oh, what a foolish little thing you are, Sansa. Lord Baelish was right. Life is not a song, and now I'm learning this every day to my sorrow._

The door creaked open and she immediately sat up. Shae walked in and noticed the state she was in. "Why are your shoes in the bed, my lady?"

She climbed on the bed herself without permission. Shae was insolent and touched Sansa with a familiarity that servants shouldn't allow themselves to do. But they were not entirely intrusive and more than once Sansa had welcomed them at times when being held by another person is what gets her through the nightmares.

Shae took her shoes and placed them down the bed. She remained beside Sansa and took a pillow so she could use it for her feet. "How was arithmetic?"

"I didn't expect to enjoy it," she answered truthfully.

"You're a smart girl. I'm sure you had."

Sansa laid back down and slowly placed her head against her handmaid's bare shoulder. The proximity was comforting. A few moments later, Shae had her hand on her knees, rubbing them in a rhythmic way that made her sleepy.

"There's a luncheon at the Tower of the Hand that Lord Tyrion wishes to invite you to before your next lesson," Shae explained.

Sansa didn't want to see him at all. She'd rather not, but she couldn't refuse the invitation of the man who's been nothing but kind to her. She supposed she could feign ignorance and pretend that witnessing him in such a situation did not somewhat dampen her spirits. She's well-versed in courtesies. This one shouldn't be hard for her. "And how did you come across this invitation?" she asked.

"Pod, his squire." Shae replied as she sat up. "You should change garments."

Sansa looked down at her dress. "You really think I ought to?"

"Yes," her handmaid is going through her closet now. "And splash some water in your face to wash off the smudges of tears."

Sansa didn't even bother denying that she had been crying. She stood up and began to disrobe herself. She glanced at Shae and the gown she was holding. "That's an old one. The queen regent says I shouldn't wear bright colors anymore."

"Why not?" Shae challenged. "Blue has always been your color."

"The queen regent—"

"Is with her son, far too concerned with his welfare to inspect your gowns," she marched towards Sansa before she could even protest.

It had been a month since she wore something that resembles the dresses her mother used to make for her. But as soon as she put it on and Shae began to lace her back, it had become obvious that it did not fit her in a way that is considered proper. Her chest was pushed out, emphasizing her budding breasts, and the shape of her waist is more pronounced than it should be. Ashamed of the way the fabric clings to her body, Sansa tried to cover herself. It was so tight everywhere. She could hear her handmaid laughing at her noticeable apprehension.

"I wonder when you'll stop growing, my lady," she teased.

Sansa was flustered by now. "I told you I shouldn't wear it!"

"You look dashing, lady Sansa."

"I look like a harlot!"

Shae brushed a hand on her stomach, glancing at the full-length looking-glass before them. "Aye, but the expensive kind."

"There's an expensive kind?" Sansa shouldn't encourage this kind of filthy exchange but Shae's open delight was quite flattering somehow.

"I cannot wear this," Sansa stressed each word, ignoring the way she blushed when she glimpsed at her reflection. "If I am to eat with Lord Tyrion…"

"You should look your best," Shae finished, nodding. She was already loosening the laces. "But you could still wear it. It just needs a little adjustment."

Sansa thoughtfully looked at the reflection before her. She did like how much the blue brings out her pale complexion and how its soft contrast makes her hair even redder, almost vibrant. She felt beautiful in a way she hasn't felt before. Shae must have noticed her staring at herself because she said. "Dozens of girls will kill to be in your place, my lady."

"My place as the ward of the Lannisters, you mean?" Sansa inquired boldly. "That is not something I would wish on any girl."

Shae sighed softly as she finished fixing her dress. It didn't hug her body in such a grotesque manner anymore but Sansa was still not sure about it.

"You can't hide your beauty forever, my lady," Shae remarked.

"But…" Sansa trailed off. She remembered what the queen regent told her about women's charms and how they could be weapons. She's never going to heed that advice. Her body was not for sale or for use without her consent. It will belong only to her husband, a man who is brave, gentle and strong as her father used to say.

Shae began to brush her hair. Her hands moved with a familiarity that put her at ease. With her flowering, Sansa knew she'll be more than adequate to be Joffrey's wife. The queen regent will make sure of that. It's hard to believe that there was ever time Sansa admired her and believed her son was her one true love. Now just the thought of the king's hands touching her body—and given the way he had her brutalized since their betrothal—was enough to send her running off a cliff. But there will be no such opportunity of escape when his time has come to bed her.

If she bore him any heirs, she will love them all and do everything in her power to make sure they won't become him. It will be her only solace.

 

* * *

 

He had been pacing around the room for a few minutes now, unable to figure out what to do with himself which is odd because Tyrion hadn't been this nervous for a very long time. And yet there he was, in possibly the most dismantled version as he will ever be. And what for? For a girl who was everything about the world he craved the most? Tyrion knew he should suppress such ugly feelings or they will take over. He was merely embarrassed about yesterday, that was it, when he irresponsibly…

But she compelled him to. She seduced him in her damaged state, believing it will lessen her distrust if he proves to her that he has nothing but clean intentions. Tyrion may not have taken advantage of her in that moment but the thoughts he's been plagued with keep trying to recall that event over and over. Tyrion felt so vile that he came close in deciding to never see Sansa Stark again which is rather foolish since they are in the same castle and once she's wed to Joffrey, she'll be his niece-in-law and any social gathering of the family will be uniquely painful for both of them if he did not find a way to keep it friendly at least.

He stopped walking and reviewed that predicament. Tyrion kept offering her friendship but he never truly tried to figure out what that would entail and to what purpose it will serve. Does it always have to be this hard?

The door opened just in time before he started to absorb his dark contemplations too much. Pod escorted the young lady in question who was looking less and less a child of fourteen. Why did she even wear that gown? When she passed by the window, the sunlight made the blue gown sparkle a little even though there were no crystals stitched anywhere. There was also a noticeable smile on the girl's lips which quickly disappeared when his gaze lingered there.

Cautiously, Tyrion pulled out a chair for her to sit on. She thanked him and slowly sat down as Pod helped him push her chair close to the table. Sansa barely uttered a word which wasn't new but something else bothered him about the way she acted now, especially whenever he would see her eyes watching him. He couldn't read what she's thinking. It was easier when she had been guarding her thoughts but now she didn't even seem interested in doing that, though it still doesn't guarantee that she'll be receptive to him this time. Tyrion wished Shae joined them but she was nowhere in sight. He couldn't be alone with the girl again. This means Pod had to stand in the corner during the luncheon. That was perfectly acceptable.

"We have goat stew and radishes," Pod remarked as he carefully poured the stew on Sansa's bowl. "And lemon cake as well, my lady."

She brightened at that. "Thank you."

Tyrion was already on his third cup of wine. He had nothing particular to say to her at all. He must have run out of words somewhere along the way, or he now lacked the energy to engage her in any form of dialogue because he knew she would only recite courtesies back at him. He simply did not have the patience today. Or perhaps he was wounded by what she did and the kind of response it elicited from him. Either way, he will not start the conversation first. Perhaps using a new tactic to get her to speak honestly would yield better results.

Sansa Stark sipped her stew quietly for several minutes, pausing once in a while to look out the window where birds have perched on the ledge.

He watched the birds as well and felt slightly drowsy because of the wine.

"I heard a song once," she began to speak.

Tyrion did not interrupt but he glanced at her to let her know that he's listening. She was still watching the birds as she went on. "It's about a flightless white bird dying on the edge of a snowy cliff. A warlock took pity and turned the snow around it into wings. I'd like to think that it was able to fly away someday and since then it would live freely in the skies."

"I know that song." Tyrion answered.

Sansa turned to him, blinking. "Do you, my lord?"

Tyrion thought about it. He knew the tune. All he had to do is recall it. "I think the verses were something like…" he muttered to himself, trying to grasp the words and the melody at the same time. "  _'Small wonder, it was called, pale and made of tendrils'_ ," he cleared his throat, focusing on the melody.

 

_It walked miles and miles in winter's time,_

_And when it can't, it waited to be killed._

_Small wonder laid in the flurry edge,_

_No more than a wisp of bones and marrow._

Tyrion hummed the next lines he had forgotten and then sang again, " _this little wonder with no wings to flutter, winter's litter in the gutter…_ "

He must have been very much drunk indeed to sing the verses so easily. It felt quite silly too, and he saw Pod smirking from where he stood.

But it surprised him when she sang the next lines, " _Winter sorrow and no tomorrow for Small wonder with nothing to barter._ " She looked at the birds on the ledge again and the light on her face made it look absolutely serene.

 

_But then warlock Wilcord gathered the frost around it_

_And spread Small wonder across the plains_

_Until it was ready for flight_

She closed her eyes slightly. "Until it was ready for flight…"

Tyrion felt something unfathomable linger in his chest when the song has ended. He tried to ignore it as he placed his goblet gently on the table. He waited until she opened her eyes again before he asked. "Septa Cora wanted me to ask you if you play any instrument."

"The lyre," she answered.

"Oh," he paused. "How can you say the warlock turned the snow into the bird's wings? There was nothing in the song to indicate that."

Sansa shrugged her shoulders. "That's how I've always imagined it."

"It seems rather inaccurate," Tyrion shifted in his chair. "It seemed to me that Small wonder died already. And his remains were spread across the plains by the warlock. It's quite a literal translation and nothing more."

"But songs have symbolic meanings, do they not, my lord?" Sansa countered. "The last line of the song: until it was ready for flight. That's why I think he was given wings so he could fly."

"I've always thought Small wonder is a female bird," he remarked. "Perhaps the flight the song spoke of is symbolic for the passage of death, of…I don't know, letting go of this life and going forth to the next?" he gulped down his goblet again and when he finished, he looked at Sansa and went on. "And Small wonder is clinging to whatever it is that's keeping her in the snow. She's not ready. Not for flying or for moving on, at least not yet. So the warlock scattered bits of her everywhere since she wants to say grounded for the rest of time. Maybe." He sighed as he felt the effect of wine take over. It relaxed his body and warmed his flesh. "But we will never know."

Sansa was holding the spoon in her grip with a tightness he observed was an indication that she was upset.

"Forgive me," Tyrion realized the candor in his words about what occurred to him may have been a meaningful song for her. "I'm in a terrible mood lately."

"You're right, my lord." Sansa let go of the spoon but she still stared at it. "The bird died. It did not survive the winter. Like you said, it was a literal translation." Her bottom lip quivered. "And nothing more."

Tyrion opened his mouth to offer some sort of comfort or to retract his careless words just so he could glimpse her smile once more—but he restrained himself.

He watched the cruel realization darkened her features but this might be for the best. He simply could not treat her like an innocent, fragile creature forever. "War is coming to our doorstep, Sansa." He began, measuring his words carefully. "Stannis' fleets and army will attempt to sack King's Landing in a few days. Do you know of this?"

She gave a solemn nod.

"I will not shield you from harsher truths this time," he continued. "I have a plan to defend the city but if it all fails, the seven help us, then you may consider it an opportunity to plead for your life once Stannis arrives."

She looked at him now with disbelief in her eyes.

"He was the brother of King Robert, a friend of your father's." Tyrion explained. "He will see you as a victim caught between a war you are not to blame for. But I must also disclose the possibility that he will also hold you in captive and exchange you if your brother surrenders his power as King in the North."

"And…" she trailed off and then asked. "How do you plan to defend the city?"

Tyrion was already out of his chair and pacing away from the table. He was not sure how to phrase it. He didn't think he could tell her but he could see she's rather hopeful that her luck will improve after the war and yet he cannot promise that it might. So he replied. "Joffrey is getting better but he will not harm you because he would be waist-deep with the preparations for attack. Besides, I think it's more likely he'll focus his bloodlust on Stannis out of frustration and shame, seeing as he can't get to either of us." 

 _For the time being,_  Tyrion thought, _the boy is still king of all seven kingdoms. He will find a way._

Sansa listened to him as he explained the situation further. "My father rides from Harrenhal but no one is certain when he'll arrive. As acting Hand, it is my obligation to hold back Stannis' forces long enough for…" he trailed off. He didn't want to disclose his opinion on the matter without sounding insecure.

"For Lord Tywin to aid in the victory?" she finished for him.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow at her. "You want the lions to win then?" He approached her slightly, weighing their gazes together. "You want Joffrey to remain in the Iron Throne? For him to marry you and for you to bear him sons? That's the happy ending you're going to settle for?"

Sansa said nothing for a while. She pushed the bowl of stew to the side and Pod took that as a cue to remove the dish. As soon as he took it, his squire headed for the door. Tyrion did not stop him from leaving although being alone with Sansa Stark again would certainly test if he can keep his inhibitions alert.

"I will not risk everything with the promise of Lord Stannis' mercy as I did before with Queen Cersei's," she answered, completely truthful this time as far as he could tell. "If it's a choice between trading one cage for another…I'd rather stay here." She met his gaze boldly now.

"You're not as bad as the rest of them."

"You can't mean that," Tyrion readily responded. "I can only protect you from Joffrey as long as I am Hand but…" he was standing before her now, looking down to avoid the helplessness in her stare. "That could change when my father arrives. So I must ask you to consider every angle and take the opportunity to save yourself."

Pod came back before their conversation could continue. He told them that Septa Cora was already waiting on the other room for the music lessons.

Sansa stood up and walked to the door. She glanced briefly at Tyrion.

Tyrion watched her from this distance; her blue gown so luminescent, her auburn hair ever so kissed by fire that it gave a semblance of radiance to an otherwise broken thing that she had been for a long time.

"Enjoy the music then," he called out. "It's time to sing."

 

* * *

 

The night came rather quickly than usual.

Tyrion carried his legs with more effort as well, seeing as that there was so much exhaustion he had to ensure for this day alone, making all necessary arrangements for the coming war. When he reached the staircase, he muttered a loud, "fuck every living god!" as he dragged his weight with each step. He was taking him time with his walk when he saw Sansa Stark passed by. It looked like she was in tears. Deeply concerned and thinking he might have something to do with it as well, he followed her but kept his distance especially when Sandor Clegane appeared and stopped Sansa in her tracks. Tyrion watched the exchange for a while.

"Look who's come out to play," the Hound said. "Would the king want his little prize out, wondering alone?" He placed his hand on the wall where Sansa is now resting her back on.

She said. "I'm just going back to my chambers, Ser."

The Hound sneered, glancing at her from head to foot. "You are a woman now. The king will be happy soon, taking you into his bed…"

This elicited another automatic response from her. "The night we're wed will be the happiest—"

"STOP THAT!" Clegane grabbed her elbow.

"You're hurting me, Ser!"

"Ser? I'm a dog, remember? The king's dog!" He grinned cruelly at her now, closing the distance between them. "And you're his bird. Would you sing me a song, little bird? Songs about knights and fair maidens?"

Tyrion's silence felt unusual to him but there's something about this exchange that is more than meets the eye and he cannot put his finger on it just yet.

"Go on," the Hound urged Sansa Stark. "Sing."

With a look of defiance, Sansa said. "You won't hurt me."

"Sing!" Clegane gripped her arm again.

"I don't know any songs," she answered him. "Not anymore."

As soon as she said that, the Hound's expression softened which Tyrion took note of. Not even badly burnt side of his face was able to conceal it. When he loosened his grip on Sansa, Tyrion decided to interfere now.

"Clegane, what's going on?"

"Never mind it. I was just taking our lady—"

"I will see to her," he cut him off. "Go find a tree to piss on."

Clegane would have bared his teeth but something has changed in his disposition after speaking to Sansa and Tyrion figured out it was guilt. He may not be taking pleasure from taunting the girl at all, and yet he was drawn to her and Tyrion was beginning to understand why. It made him uncomfortable because it's probably the same reason why he's seeking out Sansa in the first place. He may not be so different from the dog after all.

"Thank you, my lord." Sansa's ready response interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm glad I caught up to you at this hour," he remarked. "I was just about to go back to the tower. But there's something I've been meaning to give you."

He took something from his pocket. It was a small box that he had kept for days now. Tyrion opened it and showed her a small vial filled with green liquid. "It's wildfire," he said. "Five drops of it and it would be enough to burn a considerably large room if you pour it on a hearth or by using a torch."

Her eyes widened. "What am I to do with that, my lord?"

"A sort of fail-safe, perhaps? Protection from anybody who might attempt to hurt you," he closed the box and handed it to her. "You could use it on them. All it takes is heat to react. Even daylight could suffice with the right temperature."

Sansa stared at the box, her face paler than usual. "And I could use it on myself as well?" She looked at him, her eyes alive with something that terrified him. He walked forward to take her hand and placed the box on top of it. He squeezed them together with his other hand.

"That option is available but it's one that should only be considered when all options are rendered moot." He let her hand go. She clutched the box with a strength he hadn't seen before.

"It's getting harder and harder to dream when you live in a waking nightmare,” she whispered.

Tyrion let a few seconds pass before he said. "It's not your fault."

He shouldn't bring it up but he can't let her keep doing this to herself anymore. "I've always wondered why you never fought back. You just let Joffrey and his knights beat you around. It was as if…" he sighed and then continued. "It was as if you think you deserve it. And you do, don't you? You blame yourself for the misfortunes that befallen your family." He took a step forward while her feet remained still but she could not look at him anymore.

"You think you killed him, your father. And whatever is happening to you, whatever brutality, you accept it as some sort of punishment, don't you?"

Sansa's bottom lip quivered again and her already moist eyes began to leak as she stepped away from him. Tyrion did not stop talking. "You think it's penance. The bruises on your legs, the knife wounds on your wrists—the whipping, the punching…everything." He was starting to feel the anger taking hold. "You think it's the least you could do, just stand there and let them pound you into dust because it's what the gods would have wanted as payment for your betrayal."

"Please…" Sansa gripped the box and sobbed.

Without him thinking about it, he murmured. "Sweet Sansa," before he could stop himself. Or stop himself from reaching out to grip her hands again. She tried to free herself but he held on. He stared into her eyes and said with every courage he could muster himself. "You're wrong. It wasn't your fault."

She was reduced into tears now but she kept silent. And then she looked at him with accusation in her eyes. "And you don't think I will use this vial you gave me to kill myself? Because I would!"

"You won't," he smiled at her, loosening his grip on her hands. "From what I can understand, you are the girl who believed that the bird in the song did not die but was rather given wings to fly, to be free. This," he nodded at the box, "is not the freedom you are looking for. I believe you will stay on that snowy hill for as long as you could until you're ready for the flight you've always dreamed of."

Sansa shook her head wordlessly and he could see that she could no longer stand to be in his presence so he allowed her to leave. She walked off, pressing the box close to her chest like the way she embraced Ser Dunk's storybook in her sleep last night. There was nothing more he could do. He just has to believe that as much as she will learn to shed off her innocence, she won't abandon her values and ideals in the process. And that was all he could do for now: believe in her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _"There's a wall between us and we're too afraid, much too afraid to sing"_ ~STARS


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of the Blackwater tests both Tyrion and Sansa separately to stand strong against their worst fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this chapter immensely, and I hope it shows :)

* * *

  

**Hear me roar**

 

* * *

 

 

In the next few days, all that Sansa could dream about was Winterfell and the direwolves. She even stirred awake once or twice, swearing she could hear a wolf call beckoning her from beyond the city. It was only a hollow sound at first, but it grew louder until it pierced through her bones and hovered persistently every night since. When she told Shae about it, her handmaid remarked that it could just be the horns. _War is coming to our doorstep,_ she remembered. That doesn't seem to be the worst of it because sometimes she would dream of Tyrion Lannister too, and it filled her mornings after with unwelcome retrospection and a longing she would not name.

On the other hand, Sansa was beginning to feel close to Septa Lorraine even if there was a strange kind of distance that she insisted to impose. Septa Cora was more receptive and affectionate, and she sang of songs that she composed on her own which Sansa would very much like to learn herself. Her lessons were a helpful distraction that kept her occupied for the rest of the day. For three days she was falling into a pleasant routine which all the more reminded her of home.

Later that afternoon, the queen regent called upon her to visit the king's chambers. Sansa dared not to disobey even if she couldn't stomach to see Joffrey again. Cersei Lannister told her to come alone because he desired a private conversation and Sansa readied herself for whatever that entailed; she knew the queen regent will find a way to punish her somehow.

She saw the Kingsguard standing next to the door. Ser Meryn sneered at her and for a while the knife wounds on her wrists itched. Sansa curtsied before him, greeting him for a lovely afternoon. He chuckled then and, as she opened the door, he put his hand behind her back and shoved her inside. She would've lost her balance if only the Hound wasn't there to catch her.

"Steady yourself, little bird," he whispered ominously. He pulled her closer to him and she held his gaze as he added. "The king misses you. He's eager to see you."

"Take her here, dog."

The moment she heard the voice, her chest felt like a hammer slammed into it. She balled her fingers into fists and then took a breath as the Hound held her by the elbow and they started walking together towards the bed.

Joffrey was already up, his arms crossed in front of him like a petulant child. But his eyes were definitely older with a suspicious look that she tried not to notice too much. His face wasn't as swollen as she hoped but it comforted her somehow once she saw that he's now almost as bruised as she is. When he reached out his hand, Sansa did not hesitate taking it in fear that he might punish her if she showed any sign of insolence. As soon as their hands touched, the king pulled her down to the bed by yanking her hard.

She sat in front of him now, opening her mouth to say her apologies but then he cut her off. "Do you still bleed?" he asked.

There was no concern in his voice that she could detect but she answered as truthfully as she could. "The wounds have healed quite all right, Your Grace."

"I didn't mean those," he gripped her wrist now. "You could fall down the steps of Baelor for all I care." He saw the darkening of her expression as soon as he mentioned that dreadful place where he had her father's head chopped off for all King's Landing to see. As she expected, his lips twisted into a gleeful smile. Still gripping her wrist, his other hand reached for her and stopped on top of her thigh. "I meant if you're still tainted with moon blood."

"No longer, Your Grace." Sansa answered and tried not to make another sound. Joffrey stared into her eyes as the fingers on her thigh moved like he was petting her.

"I was hoping you'd visit me while I was confined here. But you didn't. What kind of betrothed are you?" As he scolded her, his nails dug slightly into the fabric of her gown. "You'd best heed my command, my lady, seeing as you are the reason I was bedridden. If you have been a good girl, I never would have hurt you."

"Yes, Your Grace, I'm very sorry." Slowly, she found her hand reaching to touch him on his knee. He looked at it, completely disinterested, but she continued. "I was a stupid girl. I deserved all the beatings. You were showing me how to be good, I know that, Your Grace." She squeezed her hand on his knee slightly.

He scoffed but he looked convinced. He let her wrist go but his other hand stayed on her thigh. He swept her face by cupping her chin. He leaned closer, whispering with malevolent pretense. "Did you miss me, Sansa?"

"Yes, very much so."

He looked happy about that but in the most grotesque way possible. He moved his hand higher and Sansa closed her eyes. His fingers brushed into her in a manner that made her want to light herself down there on fire. Taking his other hand from her chin, he cupped one of her breasts this time. He squeezed it quite painfully.

"Funny," he remarked. "You still look and feel like a little girl."

With both hands now, he tugged her gown down to reveal her chest. It was a good thing she had small clothes underneath. She was tempted to cover herself and protest but she was more than familiar with his ways, especially when he had that cruel look in his eyes. "What do you think, dog? Doesn't she look as flat as a wall?" He laughed then.

The Hound didn't speak or look at her. She was grateful for that.

"Oh, but your skin…" Joffrey's index finger moved across her neck, tracing it as if he was holding a blade against it. He could be imagining that as well. Joffrey scoffed again. "My future wife and queen…"

Suddenly, he gripped her throat. Sansa struggled to keep her breathing even. Joffrey stared at her and for a moment he looked thoughtful. He loosened his grip and leaned forward to kiss her lips. She closed her eyes, unable to bear looking at his face. He had both hands on her neck now as he hardened the kiss and forced his tongue into her mouth. She had no choice but to part her lips.

When it was over, Joffrey looked at the Hound and said. "Take her away. I have to get ready for the small council meeting."

Sansa took that as a cue to stand. She pulled up her gown and realized that she had to lace it up from behind again but she said nothing to indicate that discomfort. Joffrey watched her for a while before he took her by the wrist again and said in a gentle voice. "I'll look for you in court tonight. I was told that Stannis will be upon us six hours from now, and you should see me off." He smirked. "And put some color in your face. Whores are much more pleasant to look at than you."

"I will, Your Grace." Sansa curtsied and then the Hound pulled her away.

They walked outside the king's chambers together with the Hound trailing behind her. When they turned to a corner, Sansa began to whimper silently to herself, feeling the disgrace all over her body as she tried to hold the gown together with her arms pressed against her chest. She stopped on her tracks and then turned around to say something to the Hound; a courteous comment about his kindness, perhaps, but instead found herself leaning towards him with her face resting on his armor all of a sudden. She controlled her sobs as hard as she could but she still whimpered. She could feel the terror pulsing in her fingertips.

She wondered why he hadn't pushed her away but was quite thankful he didn't. She found her hands gripping him on the shoulders, and only realized it when he let out a small growl to express that this must be a nuisance. Sansa pulled away then and apologized quickly. Afterwards she wiped away the tears from her cheeks and hurriedly held her gown before it slips off from her torso again. "I beg your pardon. I didn't know what came over me."

But she knew exactly what it was. For months now she was able to handle the Kingsguard pounding at her as often as they could on Joffrey's orders but now that it was the king himself who touched her with such gruesome intent—it made her more afraid of the night when they finally become man and wife. When he kissed her earlier, it felt like boiling water was poured down her throat, cutting off every ounce of breath from her body. And when his hand squeezed and fondled her—

Sansa let out another whimper and turned away. But the Hound grabbed her wrist and made her look at his face. She allowed herself to gaze upon those burns and saw that the eyes looking back at her were sadder than she expected.

"Go back to your cage and rest, little bird," he remarked.

Sansa managed to smile at him. With her other hand, she reached out to touch his cheek. She forgot the state of her dress but the Hound didn't. He flinched away and let her go, avoiding her gaze. "Back to the cage, you!" he growled. Exposed again, Sansa pulled up her gown. And then she heard a voice.

"I was hoping to run into you," the queen regent approached, her face more solemn than ever. When she saw the Hound, she gave him a steady glare and he walked off immediately without another word. Sansa gripped her gown against her until Cersei Lannister noticed.

"Did my son play too roughly with you again?" she inquired.

Sansa said nothing.

"Turn around. Let me lace you up."

Hesitantly, Sansa did what was asked of her. The queen regent touched her hair with a certain coldness she took notice of. As she laced her, Sansa tried not to think about her mother but it was impossible not to. The queen regent was the closest thing she had for a mother here at Red Keep.  _That was depressing,_  Sansa realized. It's only obvious that Cersei Lannister never really cared for her. She may be kind now but the winds are fickle when it came to the Lannisters. _Tyrion is always kind to me. He tries even if he doesn't have to be._

Sansa froze. _Tyrion_? She meant  _Lord_  Tyrion. Tyrion _Lannister_. 

_Never forget who he is._

"Are you scared, little dove?"

Sansa turned around and nodded. "Winter has come. But it comes all the time, and always much worse than the last." She regretted saying that out loud but it transformed the queen regent's face into a softer expression.

But not for long. "When the battle begins, you are to stay with me." Cersei Lannister explained. "We will also be accompanied by the noble women of this proud city. We each have a role to fulfill especially in war." She paused. "Have you ever worn armor, Sansa?"

She shook her head.

The queen regent smiled then. "You should try one. You best protect that body of yours since it contains the most fragile heart I've ever seen."

 

* * *

 

Tyrion spent the earlier part of afternoon with Shae while Sansa Stark was with her music teacher. They lay in his bed, draped in blankets and content in each other's embrace for a while before she had to leave him again.

Joffrey and Varys visited his chambers right after the small council meeting which he purposely got himself uninvited to. This was truly annoying but he knew he has to face this little shit of a king sooner or later.

"I was hoping to benefit from your counsel earlier, uncle." Joffrey spoke first. His gait was confident but Tyrion could see through it. The boy has a bit of fear in him now after what happened days ago. He best remember that occasion then, but Tyrion certainly wouldn't mind reminding him about it again in case he forgets. Still, it was curious that he hadn't retaliated from the beating he had gotten. Tyrion thought of the worst. He considered that Joffrey was going to let this pass, since he was to marry the Stark girl anyway and that will give him plenty of time to do whatever he pleases with her. With that dark thought in mind, Tyrion decided to pour himself a cup. Wine could always calm him. "I was preoccupied with other preparations," he answered the king as politely as he could manage even if the shit doesn't deserve it.

"Inside this murky tower you call a room?" Joffrey glanced around, obviously disgusted by the atmosphere. The boy had always enjoyed color and flashy things.

"Perhaps we should take this conversation out in the sun?" Varys offered.

"Agreed," Joffrey stepped forward to the table separating him from Tyrion, and dangled a goblet in front of his uncle as a gesture to pour him some wine as well. Tyrion raised an eyebrow at his nephew but did what was asked nonetheless.

The three of them walked down four flights of stairs, barely saying anything to each other except for Joffrey who carried the goblet of wine with him, sipping it once in a while as he made a comment about some forgotten ritualistic killings of Targaryens during the old days. He would remark these things offhandedly, sometimes not really caring if either of them listened to him. Varys, however, grunted once in a while to show that he was paying attention while Tyrion was far more focused on avoiding the irregularities of some steps on the staircase so he won't slip to care about what his nephew was saying. He was also feeling rather sluggish.

_Must be the wine…_

When they reached the end, Joffrey hurried to the nearest balcony, still mumbling on about history. When he turned around, he had an unmistakable grin, probably from relishing the thought of murder and death that's about to transpire tonight. Tyrion inwardly rolled his eyes at his nephew while he watched the boy finished his cup of wine. He then threw the goblet somewhere and began to speak in an excited way that irritated Tyrion to no end.

"The preparations are long overdue. Everything is in place, I take it? Yes. Yes. I've always wanted to soak my sword with the blood of that infidel uncle of mine and the rest of his armies. Their treason will be punished very soon. The night would be a terrifying endeavor for those fools! Ha!" He then took out his sword from his waistband and swung it around. He moved forward to stab at the air and then stepped back to admire the sharpness of his sword. Joffrey stared into the gleam of the blade and looked lost in its appearance for a while.

Varys exchanged a look with Tyrion which expressed how both men felt equally anxious not only for the developments unfolding before them but also of the king's foolish and maniacal behavior in dealing with their impending doom.

Tyrion cleared his throat and remarked. "Be that as it may, we should be more than well-equipped for any attempts of siege on the city."

"If my Uncle Stannis lands on the shores of King's Landing, I'll ride out to greet him." Joffrey grinned, sheathing his sword back in his waistband.

"A brave choice, Your Grace." Tyrion answered. He fixed his pin absentmindedly. "I'm sure your men will line up behind you."

Joffrey scoffed and looked down on Tyrion as he remarked. "They say Stannis never smiles." He then placed his hand above the hilt of his sword once more and pulled it out slightly just so the two men can see the blade. "I'll give him a red smile from ear to ear." And then he laughed as he walked away from them.

Now Tyrion really rolled his eyes at that. "Imagine Stannis' terror."

"I am trying." Varys quickly replied.

Tyrion tried to step back from the growing commotion happening within the city walls and thought about tonight. He found himself curiously at peace about it. This was odd itself, considering he was supposed to be the second in-charge for the battle tonight yet his last encounter in a battlefield was pitiful at most. He got knocked down on his head as soon as the Stormcrows came marching towards Robb Stark's army. Father was gravely disapproving with his youngest son's lack of participation (which was not his fault) but he was hardly surprised about it either. Tyrion wasn't particularly squeamish about blood or killing however, seeing that he had once bludgeoned a barbarian to death when Catelyn Stark had taken him hostage and led him to the dangerous mountains. It doesn't mean he was that eager about the prospect of putting a sword through men, at least not as rabid as the boy king.

Thinking about the Starks and their unfortunate relationship with death reminded him about Sansa again. He remembered the way her eyes inspected him with a wakeful desperation nights before when she boldly proclaimed suicide. He remembered the way she would tremble in his touch each time he held her hand, and the nights she had slept in his bed, with her beautiful red hair sweeping across his sheets. He could never forget the moment when she wrapped her arms around him after a nightmare ravaged her, and how he felt her heart against his, as if he could just reach in and hold it for himself. Her skin was always warm and icy—and her breath was so sweet back when they almost kissed. He recalled that incident the most vividly of all. It was a kiss she only offered to test him, but she never would have known at that time how easily it would be for her to break him. Tyrion wanted to forget the ways she makes him feel whenever they're near each other. He wanted to forget that despite sensible intentions, he wanted to be her dashing knight on a tall horse. A silly illusion, he knew, but one he wished could come true if it could save the fourteen-year old broken thing that is Sansa Stark.

 _I'm not as bad as the rest of them,_  she says.

He now rested his palms over the edge of the stone balcony, looking over the endless stretch of sea as he talked about many things with Varys that may be too revealing, especially since he shouldn't dare trust the spider. Varys offered well-meant insights and compliments about his skill in the game. In comparison to honorable men like Ned Stark and Jon Arryn who despised the game and the players. Tyrion knew he excelled in the game of thrones.

"Not bad for a glorified plumber of Casterly Rock," he added with a smirk.

Varys also offered information about the troubling rumors from across the other side of the world. Dragons, he remarked, born out of the unburnt mother Daenerys Targaryen. Tyrion laughed it off though he still weighed the authenticity of such story afterwards. Still, he put aside the possibility of magic and dragons for now. They have no place to occupy his bearings at this time.

After all, the night of siege was coming closer as he stood there with an ally he couldn't trust, and there are more terrors to defeat, one game at a time.

 

* * *

 

Sansa tried her hand on writing a song that afternoon, hoping it would take her mind off from tonight's events. Shae was standing beside her, changing her sheets and then working her way across the room with a broom. When they first met, Shae was completely clueless about everything that entails a handmaid's work. Now she was handling every chore with a graceful and precise manner that oftentimes surprised yet pleased Sansa. It also helped that they were friends now.

While humming a tune to herself, Sansa briefly imagined what Lord Tyrion would say if he heard her sing again and it made her feel queasy just thinking about that. He's slowly making his way into the tough shell where her soft places dwelt. It should be as bad as it sounds but the exact nature of her feelings has gotten more difficult to sort through, especially on their newfound 'friendship'.

_How could I ever be friends with a Lannister?_

Not long ago she chose Queen Cersei and her son Joffrey over her father. Would she be stupid enough to do the same thing with Lord Tyrion?

_He claims to care about me. But so did Joffrey once._

"What are you writing?" Shae approached and leaned slightly against Sansa's chair, "I thought you're supposed to be doing arithmetic?"

"I don't think it would matter if I finish it right now," she replied candidly. "There's a battle for our lives tonight. I think Septa Mordane could understand if I'm not able to finish my equations."

"Do you think so?" Shae began to play with her hair. "I think that woman would want you to finish, even if there's an earthquake, typhoon, and war happening at the same time around you. She's very severe that way, isn't she?"

Sansa knew she was only jesting, but there is a grain of truth to her statement. "My eyes are tired." She remarked. "I should sleep for a while."

"Is that a song?" Shae kept asking.

As if ashamed, Sansa folded the paper neatly and placed it inside one of her sleeves. "It's not yet done. I'll sing it to you when it is, I promise."

"I heard from Podrick you and Lord Tyrion sang a song together."

Sansa could feel herself blush.

She could feel Shae whisper on her ear as her chin rested gently above her shoulder. "Could it be you're falling in love with Tyrion Lannister?"

"Don't be absurd!" Sansa snapped, embarrassed. "He is kind to me, that's all. I'm to marry the king. It's treason for me to engage with another man. Besides, I don't think Lord Tyrion sees me in that light."

Shae said nothing for a moment and then she remarked. "You're awfully defensive for someone who claims the thought did not cross your mind."

"Shae!" Sansa turned to meet her handmaid's gaze. "It's gross misconduct to talk me about such things! You forget your place, maid."

As soon as she uttered the phrase, she regretted it.

"I'm sorry, my lady." Shae answered, emphasizing the courtesy which somewhat hurt Sansa's ears. "Forget I said anything." Then she turned away.

Sansa bit down her lower lip. She could not have this fight with Shae, not ever. She's the closest thing she had to a sister, especially now that her real sister may not be alive. Sansa slowly reached out to take Shae's hand. "I didn't mean to say that. I'm sorry. I'm just…"  _scared._  "I'm just really tired. It's been a long day." And all my days have been that way, with little to no comfort of sunlight and play, until my lessons with the septas, and the fact that you're always here for me. "I never appreciate you as much as you deserve, Shae."

Her handmaid squeezed her hand without preamble. She didn't have to say anything. Sansa pulled her hand close to her cheek, allowing its warmth to console her. In return, Shae had placed her other hand on top of her head as if in blessing.

They stayed like that for a while until Shae gently pulled away and told her to get rested because she does look like she needed it. Once in bed, Sansa reluctantly told her about her meeting with Joffrey and Shae seemed particularly savage about remarking on it, saying words which Sansa was terrified for anyone to hear outside.

"He is the king," Sansa reasoned out.

"So he can do what he pleases all the time? Especially with you?"

Sansa closed her eyes, already feeling light-headed. "I am to be his wife."

"And when you are queen, you should have him poisoned."

Sansa's eyes opened and widened with that outrageous suggestion. "Please say no more of this. I'm afraid these walls have ears."

Shae scoffed and laid beside her, looking into her eyes as if it's her way to unravel. "It's not going to be easy, you know, sharing his bed."

Sansa said nothing. She didn't want to think about it, or talk about it.

"Do you know what happens when a man beds you?"

"You…spread your legs for him," Sansa whispered.

"Yes," Shae brushed some hair from Sansa's face. "What else?"

"You lie there and it will hurt at first. Then there's blood."

"But it will feel good too."

"Not with Joffrey."

"No. And it will also hurt a lot more, and not just in your first."

"And lots of blood." Sansa shivered and decided to pull the blankets tightly around her. "Joffrey likes to make me bleed."

Shae watched her for a while before she said. "At least when you're pregnant he wouldn't have you beaten up now, would he?"

Sansa blinked away the tears that were forming. Her handmaid went on. "But he might beat your children if they displease him."

"No," Sansa choked out the single word with a conviction that she could even feel at the back of her throat. "He will not hurt my children."

"You can't prevent that. He is the king."

Sansa narrowed her eyes at Shae. She is testing me.

"And I am his wife. When I'm queen, I will have him poisoned if any of his knights or he himself would dare raise a hand to my children."

The words tasted bitter as she spoke them but they sounded and felt right for her all the same. For the first time she understood her mother's grief when the Lannisters crippled Bran. She could see why such love could change a woman like Cersei Lannister into one so filled with wrath that she becomes capable of taking someone's life by her hand. It frightened Sansa to think of these things because she knew they could as easily come true once she experienced motherhood herself. She closed her eyes again, unable to bear the epiphany for too long.

Shae must have realized her distress because she didn't say anything anymore and simply run her fingers through her hair, and the touch eventually lulled Sansa to a most deserved slumber.

 

* * *

 

The night approaches steadily from within the walls of Red Keep as Tyrion watched Cersei put on her armor. He had abstained from his share of wine for two hours now, more than determined to clear his mind from any distraction and crippling indulgences. It meant not thinking about Shae or the Stark girl. It also meant refusing Cersei when she offered him a cup which is actually smart, considering his sister may have poisoned the wine to begin with. With only half an hour away from battle, he decided to visit her chambers to see her to the shelter where all the other noble women are gathered. It was his duty as the Hand and a brother after all. And now he sat across her, staring in a way that he knew would be off-putting for the queen regent. Cersei was clothed in her usual garb of red but this time she had put an armor made of gold and it fitted her body in a ridiculously beautiful way as he hated himself for noticing. There were odd moments between them over the years when Cersei would express concern over Tyrion that did not stem from vile contempt or sadistic amusement. Such times have become extinct.

Cersei delivered her most inhumane blow yet last night, when she had a whore she has mistaken to be Tyrion's personal companion whipped. The momentary relief that Shae was unharmed wasn't enough to curb Tyrion's wrath at that moment. He had sworn to his sister that her joy will turn to ashes in her mouth someday and he meant it so much that it was starting to bleed his insides just thinking about it.

It had never been possible between them. There was never a time or a place in their lives that love was possible to happen. Tyrion understood that now. But here they are, sharing a breathing space once more, and held together by their respective armors as if it could ever make a difference in the world. And both are still capable of hurting each other though bereft of any love for the other.

"Keep my son safe if you desire to see the sun rise on the morrow." She turned to face him, and in that glorious armor that accentuated her yellow hair that glowed against the candlelit room, Tyrion pondered if Cersei looked like their mother but any sort of resemblance was fleeting because he knew from tales growing up that Joanna Lannister was not the cruel sort of matriarch that his sister was.

"If and when you're done admiring yourself in the mirror, shall we move you to the shelter, dearest sister?" Tyrion was already out of his chair.

Cersei chuckled as she reached out for her goblet. She finished the wine with one gulp but held onto the cup just the same. She nodded at her handmaid who obediently carried the new bottle as Cersei walked ahead towards the door. Tyrion kept his distance from her as they walked across the throne room. There were soldiers and servants running around the halls, every one of them preparing for the onslaught and siege that could happen any minute now.

Bronn was standing still by himself and as soon as Tyrion reached him, the stink of wine wafted from him.

"By gods, is everyone drunk before the killing has yet to begin?"

"You mean everyone but you?" The sellsword grinned at him and glanced at his sister, hardly changing the gleeful expression he had on.

"Abstinence," Tyrion managed to say directly even if hearing the word coming from him was enough to make him grab a bottle or eat a cunt from where he stood.

Bronn was obviously not buying it but he only snickered. He addressed Cersei this time when he said. "A troubling time, my lady. I pray for your safety."

If Tyrion didn't need a drink before, watching this interaction between his sellsword and hateful sibling was motivation enough.

"You are most kind," Cersei didn't miss a beat when she responded. "I'm well-protected with Ser Illyn by my side. I also have an armor on and some wine to keep me sane." She raised her goblet for effect and there was even a smile on her lips.

"Hopefully both are enough, eh?" Bronn was grinning that grin again.

A second passed between them and they mostly just held each other's gaze as if it was a normal gesture between a noble woman and a sellsword, and it made Tyrion uncomfortable for many reasons he was too disgusted about to explain. "Come, Cersei," he found his voice but Bronn was already stepping out of the way so Cersei could advance forward and she didn't even bother waiting for Tyrion, and he honestly couldn't give a shit either. So he stayed behind, glaring at Bronn.

"You know, I underestimate what a beautiful creature your sister is—"

"I will have your tongue if you mention that in my presence again."

Bronn snickered again. He is so easily amused that Tyrion sometimes wondered if everything else is a joke to him.

"Best of luck to you, my friend."

"Oh, we're friends now, are we?"

Tyrion let out a sigh of exasperation. "Most probably not."

"If you treat all your whores with this kind of attitude I can understand why not a lot of them stay around unless you enhance the payment of gold."

"So you're admitting it. You're my whore." Tyrion now smiled. "And 'enhance'? Such a fancy word for a man like you."

"Been hanging around fancy folks." Bronn stepped away from him then, a smile in place and then he turned his back and approached no other than Sansa Stark and Shae who were walking together. He bowed before them as he left and Tyrion almost laughed aloud at the sight of it. It was cut short when he saw

Sansa Stark was looking at his direction. He felt compelled to walk towards her. "My lady…" he paused and then looked at Shae. "Sheila, is it?"

"It's Shae, my lord."

"Give us a moment, would you?"

Shae shot him a look he didn't understand but she did what was asked.

"I wasn't able to see you for a few days. Hand business, you see." Tyrion tried to smile but he couldn't bring himself to. "I hope your lessons are keeping you occupied." He paused, not knowing what else to say. Sansa just looked at him, the fingers from both her hands crossed together in front of her. She looked calm in that stance but her eyes have a way of betraying her sometimes and right now she was scared. Tyrion wanted to take her hand then, but decided against it.

"Thank you," she remarked but she didn't specify what for this time.

"For my kindness?" he offered.

"For everything," Sansa answered. She loosened her fingers at last and placed her hands before her. Tyrion felt a smile coming and he didn't resist. His hand was reaching for hers as well. To his surprise, she was meeting him halfway. As soon as their hands touched, the grip felt comforting enough to believe that there are some impossible things in the world that may not be what they seemed to be after all. Tyrion raised his eyes at Sansa and still perceived the fear written in her face. He squeezed her hand tight, as if to say that he will do anything in his power to make sure she will never have another sad day again. But vows as such were meant to be broken. She was the crown's prisoner, and he was one of her wardens, whether he wanted to be or not. But Tyrion tried to be something else for her at that moment, something she needed more than she will ever admit.

"Don't be afraid," he spoke softly with tenderness few had experienced from him.

Sansa didn't say anything but her lips quivered a bit. She squeezed back. He couldn't believe it, but he held on to her just the same.

"My lord," she finally spoke up at last. "I wrote a song about Ser Dunk today."

"Have you?" Tyrion could feel himself brightening up.

Sansa smiled sheepishly, lowering her voice. "It's unfinished. You might not like it when it's done, though."

"You should let me decide that for myself," he grinned, letting her hand go. It wasn't awkward or forced anymore, and for the first time since many weeks ago, he was getting the sense that it was becoming more and more friendly between them.

Sansa just nodded, placing her hands together once more. "I shall pray for you while you're in battle, Lord Tyrion."

"Would you?" he inquired, raising his eyebrow as if to tease her.

"Sansa!" Joffrey called out from somewhere behind them.

Tyrion saw the immediate change in Sansa's expression as soon as she heard her husband-to-be beckoning her.

"As I would pray for my beloved King Joffrey," she answered quickly then turned away. Tyrion would have applauded the graceful way she gathered herself. He watched her walk towards the boy king for a moment and then he shook his head in amusement and began to walk toward the gates.

 

* * *

 

"Look, my lady," Joffrey held the sword in sight with both hands and he laid it on his palms like it was made of silk. "You know Hearteater, don't you?"

Sansa cautiously took a step closer. "Yes, she is beautiful, Your Grace."

"You think it's a girl?" He looked amused. "I suppose it's poetic for it to be a woman. But Hearteater is a man. His stabbing in battle will prove that."

Sansa tried a smile but it felt wrong in her face. But Joffrey is watching her closely so she had to hold on a little longer. He nodded his head at her and she understood that he wanted her to touch it. She cautiously placed her finger on the blade and rubbed it slightly. "Do you like it?" the king asked.

"Very much, Your Grace."

Joffrey stared right into her. "Kiss it."

She blinked at him and felt that familiar banging on her chest again. Sansa bent herself down and leaned close so she could put her lips on the blade. When the contact was established, she felt just how sharp it was, and for a moment she felt tempted to wince away. But Joffrey gripped her head in place all of a sudden.

"More kisses, my lady," he commanded. "Make sure you get to the tip."

Sansa panicked inside but she still tried her very best to regain control over her emotions. Aware of the tension knotting in her stomach, she kissed the blade gently and slowly until she reached the tip where she almost felt it sting her lips. Joffrey was chuckling darkly above her and as most probably enjoying her distress. He pulled his hand away and she was able to stand straight again at last but her breath was still caught up in her throat. Joffrey smirked at her.

"I will make you kiss it again once it's drenched with blood."

"Will you fight at the vanguard?" she asked, keeping her fingers interlaced before her. "From what I can understand, it's the front of the battle lines. If Your Grace wishes to see action up close…"

"Don't tell me what to do!" He protested. "Besides, I don't consult stupid girls with my plans for battle. You stupid whore!"

Unfazed, Sansa managed a small smile. "Yes, Your Grace, you're right. I'm so stupid. Of course, you'll be fighting at the vanguard." She paused and then thought of something. "When he was young, my brother Robb used to pretend he's leading an army into battle and he always takes his position at the vanguard."

Hearing her speak her brother's name, Joffrey's expression immediately soured. He pointed the sword right at Sansa's stomach and a silence so deadly hovered between them for a moment until he spoke again. "I will chop his head off myself, your traitor cunt of a brother, and have you lick his blood off the blade."

Sansa watched him and felt an interesting calmness wash over her. "If that's the case, then you won't be using Hearteater then?" she asked. "I suppose it only makes sense. That sword isn't thick enough to accomplish the deed."

The last statement actually meant something else before she could even realize it herself. Joffrey was about to retort but the Hound walked forward to tell him that the battle formation is about to start.

"I will pray for your safe return, my love." Sansa managed to say in the sweetest way she could muster and then she leaned closer to Joffrey and kissed his cheek. When she pulled away, Joffrey grabbed the back of her head again and forced his mouth upon hers. She struggled to stay still though the sword was so close to her left hand that she could almost take it away from him and…

Joffrey let her go and shoved her away, grinning one last time before he turned around and walked away with the Hound. Sansa stood there, completely shaken to her very core, but she still watched him until he disappeared into view.

Shae walked over to her. "Many of those boys will not make it back."

"Joffrey will," Sansa answered with a newfound serenity, her fingers interlaced in front of her once more. "The worst ones always do."

 

* * *

 

The sound of horns blared outside but it traveled within the castle walls as well, and Sansa listened to it closely, imagining it was a call from the direwolves, beckoning and guiding her back to Winterfell.

She smiled when she began to recall Ser Dunk and his adventures, and for the first time in months, she allowed herself to dream again of better days while the war approached the city.

"Little dove!" The queen regent was sitting away from the other noble women and lowborn girls, a stunning vision in a red gown and golden armor. Sansa glanced at her and saw the way she gulped down her drink for the seventh time tonight. "Come, Sansa, I want to talk."

She approached Cersei Lannister, cautious of everything around her as she sat down to partake in whatever conversation she had in store.

"Pour her a cup," the queen regent ordered her handmaid.

As soon as the wine touched Sansa's lips, she felt the strong desire to spit it out but Cersei watched her so she was forced to empty the contents quickly.

"Can you handle your drink well, little dove?"

Sansa shook her head.

"Do I frighten you?"

She decided to change the subject. "Your armor is splendid, Your Grace."

"You're full of shit, you know that, don't you?"

Sansa looked down at her lap, toying with the goblet between her hands. When she spoke again, she held her ground this time. "We should ask the women to join us in prayer, Your Grace, to help them feel safe."

"Prayer? Whatever for?"

"They're under your protection," Sansa explained. "Isn't that why we're here? Aside from taking shelter and waiting for the king and his men to win?"

"I've told you earlier that we all have roles to fulfill," Cersei crossed her legs in front of her. "And I've gathered all these hens so when their cocks come back from war, they will sing songs of how generous and kind I was to them."

"But you do intend to show them kindness, don't you?" Sansa looked at the queen regent with a baffled expression.

"Sweet little dove who loves people too easily." Cersei cooed. "The more you do that, child, the weaker you become." She drank from her goblet again and then added. "If you want to rule someday, you must pander to lowlifes and the whores once in a while. But they should never forget their place and that is on the ground, worshipping you from above." She chuckled.

 _Then I would rather serve than rule._  Sansa placed down her cup on the ground. "I really must see to them, Your Grace. A prayer circle can help them."

"Oh, you're so perfect all the time, aren't you, Sansa Stark?" The queen regent pointed the goblet at her the way Joffrey did with his sword earlier. "Praying. Singing songs. Dreaming about knights and flowers and shitty little fairy tales."

Sansa had already stood up by then, trying not to meet her gaze.

"You think yourself pure and incorruptible but you will always be known as the traitor's spawn." The queen regent held out the goblet to her handmaid so she could fill it with wine again. She kept talking. "But you've flowered and now you're ready to be plucked! Do you know what happens to a city under siege, Sansa?"

"Your Grace," Sansa began, noticing that some of the women are now listening to them. They all look small and terrified.

"If the city should fall, these women will be raped." Cersei finished. "You see, this is why I have Ser Illyn with us, little dove."

Sansa can hardly look at the executioner, the King's justice, who had chopped her father's head off from a lifetime ago.

"If by chance we don't make it out in time for me to request a private audience with Stannis, I'd rather die by the blade of my servant than be passed around and feasted upon by the soldiers. Won't you like the same thing?"

 _'Have you ever been fucked, little girl?'_  Sansa could hear the words ringing in her ears. She remembered the nightmare about ghouls clawing at her chest. "Please, Your Grace." Sansa begged. "They're scared." She meant the women.

"Pick up your cup and drink with me, little dove."

Sansa did what was asked of her if that will keep the queen regent from saying any more horrible things. When she gulped down the wine for the second time, she tried to forget about every terror she has experienced since arriving to King's Landing and focused on her image of Ser Dunk, on Septa Cora's songs, the arithmetic assignment she had to answer on the morrow—

—and Lord Tyrion. She wished she had him right now to hold her again.

Admitting that to herself made her choke out the wine. She was left with no choice but to spit it out. Cersei laughed.

"Try to keep up with me, Sansa!" she had her own goblet filled again.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," Sansa replied. She looked around to see the women and girls huddled together, the unmistakable apprehension written in their faces. Sansa needed to comfort them. If Cersei Lannister won't, then she should. She knows of the horrors all these women are going through and she would have them spared.

_I would rather serve than rule._

Before she could express her thoughts towards the queen regent, Ser Lancel Lannister came barging from the door. He must have been in the middle of the battle for she saw him covered in cuts and some bruises. He sheathed his sword as he approached his cousin.

"Your Grace," he began. "We need the king back. The soldiers are losing their hope. They have no king beside them to fight for."

Sansa watched Ser Lancel carefully. What did he mean by that? Joffrey is not with them? She looked at Cersei Lannister and shuddered from the glare she offered her cousin. "Get my son." She told the handmaid. Ser Lancel looked relieved but then the queen regent added. "Not the king. I meant Tommen."

"Please, I beseech you, Cersei," Ser Lancel stepped forward. "You can't keep him in his room while men outside are dying for his name. We need him to lead!"

"He is a child!" Cersei shouted back, pushing him away. "I will not have him killed for the sake of, what? Leadership? He is a boy of fifteen. I must protect him!"

Sansa stood up herself and couldn't believe what she's hearing. Suddenly nothing mattered to her anymore, not even her life in that brief second. She looked around her and saw only tears and heartache from the women and girls who might never see their husbands, fathers and brothers again. She looked at Cersei Lannister and hated her with an overwhelming force that she forgot her courtesies and said. "If you send any more men to their deaths, then contend yourself to rule over mass graves, Your Grace, because you and your son will be queen and king of ashes!"

Cersei Lannister had hit her and Sansa didn't see it coming so she was not able to avoid it. Her head was thrown to the side with her cheek bruising from the contact. "And so the traitor's spawn speaks her mind at last!" The queen regent reached out for her, probably to hurt her again, but Sansa backed away slightly to a safe distance where she found Shae was already behind her, one hand on hers.

The handmaid brought the boy Tommen and Cersei Lannister grabbed him and ignored her cousin, pushing her way from the crowds of women who have gathered around to see what the commotion is about. As soon as the mother and son reached the door, the queen regent glanced back at Sansa and said. "I envy that bleeding heart of yours. I can see it from where I stand. Know that it will be your downfall."

Sansa had lost it by now. "Better a heart that bleeds than one that has stopped beating altogether like yours," she shot back.

Cersei Lannister's scowl deepened but she said nothing and focused on getting her youngest son out of there. Ser Lancel followed suit.

Numbed from the unexpected confrontation, Sansa squeezed Shae's hand for support. She turned around to face the women and the girls, and saw herself through them because of what she felt right now. Their pain reflected hers, magnifying it.

At that moment, she realized what she had to do.

 

* * *

 

"Where is the king?" one of the bannermen shouted.

Another one shouted loud and clear. "Who are we fighting for?"

Tyrion stood above the rest of them, feeling all the more helpless as the minutes went by. Joffrey had been gone for half an hour now after Ser Lancel took him to his chambers under the orders of his fool of a sister. This happened right after Sandor Clegane told the boy king to fuck himself and deserted them, something Tyrion never thought the dog was capable of, considering Joffrey had been his master since the king was a baby. Things have darkened at a steady pace since then until it was Ser Lancel who was nowhere to be found, and the men have noticed the absences of those they were supposed to look up to and die for.

Here they gathered below him, ready to run off as well, seeing that their cause had abandoned them first.

"Who will lead us?" Someone shouted and Tyrion searched for the person in the crowd of disgruntled soldiers but he didn't find have to find him because he saw that they are all asking the same thing within themselves.

Something equally primitive stirred inside him. He stepped forward, ignoring the baffled expression on his squire's face when he told Pod. "I will lead the attack."

He turned to the bannermen. "I will lead the attack!" he shouted at them.

He heard laughter, a dismissive sound, followed by some of the men walking out, already sheathing their swords. It wasn't authority that kept Tyrion standing firmly on his ground. It was a sense of duty, he believed. It wasn't duty to the crown. His allegiance to his family was never a patriotic one. It was as personal as it can get, but no matter how much he sweats and bleeds for the family, he never got any compensation for it. Until now. He is Hand to the King, and the king has turned craven and left all these men—these husbands, fathers, brothers and sons—to face death without honor. They would either die without a sensible cause or go home in shame, or worse, be punished for not taking arms at all in a war they no longer believed in. He needed them strong. He needed them to fight. Not for Joffrey or the Lannister name, but for themselves. Tyrion took a deep breath then and shouted. "They say I'm half a man. But what does that make the lot of you?"

"They're at the gates. There's no way out." One responded, a boy of sixteen or seventeen who looked up at Tyrion, obviously scared but still gripping his sword.

"There's another way," Tyrion answered back. "I will show you."

A loud banging from the wooden gates beside them continued on, with their enemies on the other side ready to slay them all. That gate can't hold up much longer. Tyrion took another deep breath. This is when Pod stepped beside him, offering him an axe. Tyrion took it and saw that he was already holding a lance himself, a look for grim determination in his face. He found himself smiling at his squire then, recognizing his bravery, knowing that they could all be brave, all these fathers, husbands, brothers and sons, if they knew there was something to be brave for. Tyrion knew what it should be and they had to know it was worth it.

"Don't fight for your king and don't fight for his kingdoms," he began. "Don't fight for honor. Don't fight for glory. Don't fight for riches because you won't get any. This is your city Stannis means to sack!" He pointed to the side. "That's your gate he's ramming. If he gets in, it will be your houses he burns, your gold he steals, your women he will rape!" He saw their faces lighting up, and they listened to him with all their might. He saw many of them grip their swords. He saw them hardened right before his eyes. Tyrion looked across them some more and saw how much they feared for everything that awaits them in the battlefield.

Standing above them and looking across what lay ahead, he felt taller than he ever thought he could be.

He felt could feel his eyes moist up but he smiled at himself a little as he clutched his axe. The grip helped him find his strength. "Don't be afraid," he told the bannermen and himself. "Those are brave men knocking on our door. Now let's go kill them!"

 

* * *

 

Sansa still gripped Shae's hand with hers, finding strength as she did.

"Don't be afraid," she smiled at the women. "The queen just left to raise the drawbridge. This is the safest place we can be. Joffrey's not hurt. He's fighting bravely. His knights have railed behind. They will save the city."

For a moment she believed what she said was true when she saw all of them smiling back at her, wiping their tears. "Shall we sing a hymn?" she offered. She stepped before them, her hands reaching. They reached back at her, holding her close to them. The warmth of their skin and the light in their eyes made

Sansa want to disappear in them forever. Without thinking any more of the war, she found herself singing for them. The song drifted into the air, and its melody seemed to engulf the space between her and the women, beckoning them to share it. And they did. The shelter was filled with song, claimed in defiance by their hopeful hearts all bleeding in the name of their loved ones. Surrounded by the beauty of their dreams and prayers, Sansa could almost see Winterfell even with her eyes closed, even if she's standing a million miles away from the North.

She swore she could hear the direwolves and feel the familiar cold winds of the North caressing her cheeks. Oh, she could smell the scent of her mother's hair again whenever she would pull her and Arya into an embrace.

She felt someone tugging her arm and leading her away from the prayer circle. It was Shae. "You need to go. Lock yourself in your room."

"No!" Sansa protested, looking over at the women who are still singing. "I can't leave you. I can never leave them!"

"The doors will hold," Shae reassured her. "But you are a Stark and those ravaged men will consider you a prize if they get their hands on you."

"I'm not leaving!" Sansa felt her eyes watering. "Septa Mordane asked me to lock myself in my room when the soldiers came for my father, and I did what she asked. Now she's dead, exposed in the air on a spike because of me!"

Shae touched her cheek. "Shhh…"

"The queen said they would rape everyone."

"No one is raping me." Shae lifted her dress to reveal a knife tied by a string on her leg. "Now go, my lady. I will stay here to guard the women for you. Besides, I need to say goodbye to someone."

Sansa never got the chance to ask her who, because her handmaid was already pushing her towards the door. "Run," Shae said. "Tuck yourself away from all this darkness and put your heart where it will be safe."

 

* * *

 

Tyrion ran.

He didn't know if the men followed but he still ran ahead, gripping the axe with both hands and trying to see through his helmet for any sign of danger. But he didn't stop running forward. That was when he saw one of Stannis' bannermen commanding orders at the boat where the soldiers are coming out as well. Tyrion knew what to do then. The man was the first one who got out of the boat and wasn't even aware of Tyrion's presence until it was too late.

Tyrion supposed he had a sort of height disadvantage under these circumstances. He leaped forward, raising the axe slightly above his head and then he chopped off one of the man's legs and he went down screaming. Tyrion looked behind him and saw that the men have rallied after all. They all lurched forward at the boats, slicing and hacking at the enemies with everything they've got.

He tried to join them but found himself facing Ser Mandon.

"Let's go!" he told him but the kingsguard moved toward him instead. Tyrion paused when he saw the look in his eyes.

He tried to shield himself or raise his axe but Ser Mandon was better trained for this, and Tyrion's hands didn't obey him quickly enough to deter the blow. The blade cut through his face and for a second he didn't feel the pain until he was lying on the ground, looking up at the dark skies that are smoldering with fiery arrows. He waited for the next blow but it didn't come.

Instead he looked to his side and saw his squire Pod with his lance buried deep behind Ser Mandon and the kingsguard fell to his knees and there was a hole in his armor where the lance burst through. Pod hurried to his side, lifting him, saying something but Tyrion could not hear the words.

 _Shae,_ he thought. The noises around him were mere whispers by now as he fought to keep his eyes open. Pod held him close and Tyrion swore he could see the boy was crying.  _Crying for the imp. Silly Podrick._

He coughed and could literally taste the pain. He could feel the blood in his eyes, and the way his throat clogged as he felt himself choking.

His eyelids closed by themselves. He tried to remember Shae's face. He couldn't. But he saw Sansa Stark the moment the darkness took over.

Tyrion saw her arms outstretched for him, her vibrant red hair flowing around her. Those beautiful, beautiful, haunted eyes.

From a distance, he could hear the wolves cry.

 

* * *

 

There was no mistaking it when she heard that sound. It wasn't just in her imagination anymore. A wolf call, she thought and the reaction was almost visceral when she heard it. She bolted her doors and walked slowly towards the window. _It's here for me._

"Little bird," she winced from that, knowing full well it was him who stood there in the corner even if her room was in darkness.

"Ser—" he moved forward and gripped her arm. "Please!"

"I told you before, little bird," She could feel his breath on her neck as soon as he turned her around so his arms were wrapped around her, his right arm raised beneath her chin while the other was on her waist. "I am no knight!"

"Please," she wasn't sure what to call him. There was no time for courtesies, however. "Sandor, please unhand me!" her voice shook as she tried to wriggle free.

"You're feeling brave now, little bird?" She could feel his lips on her hair. "Where is this courage whenever Joffrey would abuse you? Am I really that disgusting to you that you can't even stand being this close to me?"

"I'm not disgusted," Sansa answered but doubted the truth in her words nevertheless. "And you won't hurt me."

He pushed her away and she faced him. "Why do you always say that?"

Sansa did not reply. Instead, she reached her hands to touch his face. The burns were particularly menacing with only the light from the window to reveal them. As soon as she touched him, the Hound's eyes changed. He looked…small in her grasp. Gone was the brute who was always ready to insult her naïve ways. The man looking back at her reminded her of the little boy whose brother shoved his face into the fire and scarred him for a lifetime. Sansa felt all kinds of compassion for him then as her fingers traced the burns as if she meant to probe them deeper. He stepped back from her, looking like the wounded dog he had always been.

She realized what happened and why the Hound found his way here. The killing did not scare him away from the battle. It must have been the fire. She could see it from where she stood close to the window. There was fire everywhere. And he sought her because she was the only one in the world for him who could see past the cruelty and the hatred he held on for so long.

Sansa wanted to say his name again but was frightened of the feelings she was having for him at this point. As she maintained her silence, the Hound stepped forward again. He has recovered from her gesture and was now scowling at her. "What do you want from me?"

"I want that song."

Sansa took a deep breath. "Why? I just want to understand."

The Hound chuckled. "You're not safe here, you know, cooped up all alone in this cage. I can take you away," he walked forward, watching her.

"No," Sansa answered. "You've killed people. I can't…trust you."

"Everyone's a killer and you're surrounded by them. Your father was a killer too. Believe whatever you want but your daddy enjoyed his share of spilling blood."

Sansa shook her head, taking a few steps away from him.

"I can take you back home," he said, stopping on his tracks. They stared at each other for a while before he added. "No one will ever harm you again."

It was Sansa who approached him. She did believe he was genuinely trying to rescue her from all of it. But this was not the way she wants to flee. The Hound tried to convince her again. "They're going to eat you alive, girl."

"I am a Stark of Winterfell," she assured him. "They will not break me." And she was suddenly reminded of Tyrion.

He said nothing. Sansa was able to examine the state of his condition as he just stood there in silence. His armor and white cloak were drenched in dried blood. He had a bottle with him and he drank from it as he kept his eyes on her. He threw it across the room and glared at her. "Now about that song.”

The Hound grabbed her by the shoulders and placed a savage kiss on her lips before she could protest. She squirmed beneath his weight but stayed where she was with her eyes wide open in shock. It was only this morning when Joffrey himself kissed her with the same kind of force but this was different somehow. The Hound pulled her against him by looping his arms around her waist now and she reluctantly closed her eyes. Without realizing it, she had allowed him to deepen the kiss. Another few seconds passed before he was pushing her to the bed. She allowed him.

Sansa felt disconnected the whole time as the Hound ran his hands all over her body as if she was water and he could never hold onto her. But he tried and she let him. The garments between them suddenly felt tight around her so when the Hound tore her gown from the collar and exposed her, she let him. It frightened her that she did. She remembered the riot in the marketplace weeks ago. She remembered the kingsguard and Joffrey ripping her gown before. But this was different. This moment with the Hound—she actually wanted it. All the horrors mingled with this curious new feeling rising inside her, making her heart jump out of her with his every touch.

His kiss was devoid of any tenderness, whether it was on her mouth or on her neck, and once or twice he even bit her. She didn't care. She kissed him back. They lay like there for a while, pressed against each other as the war raged on outside. It was only when he gripped her thighs and tried to push them apart that she pleaded for him to stop. She regained sense. This wasn't what she really wanted.

He did. The Hound lifted himself up. Once he was standing, he also pulled her up onto the bed. She sat before him, shaking and disbelieving. She placed her arms around herself, unable to bear the sight of him. There was a strange sensation on her thighs and her stomach felt like it was forcing her to puke. She closed her eyes. "Sweet little bird," she heard the Hound say.

Something was being ripped. When she opened her eyes, she realized that he had taken off his cloak and wrapped it around her. And then he was gone as if he blended into the darkness. As if he wasn't real at all. But Sansa could still taste the wine in her mouth. She could still feel the roughness of his hands groping her. In her mind, it was a violation of the most unforgivable sort, but her body disagreed.

She was overcome with a feeling that's between pleasurable and insane.

 

* * *

 

The battle of the Blackwater bay was won by the Lannisters and the Tyrells. Sansa had seen Ser Loras once more, the handsome Knight of Flowers, standing beside his sister Margaery and she is the most beautiful girl she had ever gazed upon since Cersei Lannister. The two of them faced Joffrey at court and as Ser Loras was awarded for his valor, the king agreed to marry his sister as well, which meant he permanently put an end to his engagement with Sansa. She felt ecstatic then, but was stopped by Lord Petyr Baelish on her tracks to give her a warning of the dangers that will come to her soon.

"Joffrey is not the kind of boy who will give away his toys even if he's done playing with them," he said. "And now that you're a woman, there are other ways that he could enjoy you."

He put his hand gently on her elbow. "I could take you away from all of this." He offered. "For the love I feel for your mother, I swear to protect you, my lady." He paused, taking his hand off her and smiling at her with something she couldn't figure out. "You look just like her, you know, when she was young…"

"King's Landing is my home now," she answered him.

"Look around you, my lady. We're all liars here." Lord Baelish's smile grew wider. "And all of us are better than you."

That was the second offer of escape she had to turn down. Sansa remembered the flightless bird dying on the edge of a snowy hill.

 _One day I will fly away._   _But not today._

Lord Varys walked ahead of her until they reached a door. He turned to her, his face grave. "He was wounded very badly, my lady. We tried everything we can. Only the gods know now when Lord Tyrion will wake up again."

Sansa held the blanket close to her. She has sewn it for days and wanted to give it to Lord Tyrion herself. "Thank you for taking me to see him, my lord. How long has it been since he was confined?"

"As soon as we were able to accommodate," Lord Varys answered. "It's been a week and he hasn't opened his eyes the whole time."

"May I?" she asked, stepping forward.

Lord Varys opened the door and let her enter first. Sansa gripped her skirts with one hand and walked inside. The room was dimly lit and quite narrow. There was hardly anything in it except the bed which was at the very center. The moment her eyes adjusted and she saw Lord Tyrion beneath the sheets, she fought the urge to run to his side and shake him. It wouldn't be appropriate.

"I will leave you to say your piece, my lady." Lord Varys said, bowing to her slightly. He offered a smile one last time and then he closed the door behind him.

Sansa didn't approach the bed just yet. She gripped the blanket as she stood at the foot of the bed, remembering that the last time she saw her little brother Bran, he had been sleeping in his bed for days after his fall. Lord Tyrion was as tall as a child himself, and it only made it worse for her right now. She approached and sat on the stool that was beside him. She slowly placed the blanket on top of him, smoothening it with her trembling hands. "I'm sorry to see you this way, my lord," she said.

And then she took his hand and pressed it against her palm. "If you can hear me, please squeeze my hand." She waited but she knew that he couldn't.

Unable to hold back the tears, she bit her lower lip and allowed herself to weep. It's just her now. There was no one to deceive or hide from. "I will pray for you. To all the gods, old and new," she whispered as if it was their secret. "I will pray to them, pray for your recovery. Please get better. I want you to get better." She squeezed his hand tightly now as if she could wake him if she did.

"You…" she trailed off, wiping her tear-stained cheek with her other hand. "You are my friend. You are kind to me. And I never would have made it if you weren't there in the throne room that day to stand up for me. You're my friend. I know that now."

Sansa let go of his hand so she could smoothen the blanket again. It was blue with yellow flowers. She traced one of them as she watched his face which was covered in bandage. She would give anything to see those mismatched eyes again. _Open your eyes, Tyrion_. Sansa leaned close to his face and kissed the top of his head tenderly.  _Come back to me._

 

* * *

 

_He walked right into those outstretched arms and didn't care that she was able to lift him up. He buried his face on the space between her neck and shoulder, and whispered that he wants her, child or woman or whatever she is._

_And Sansa held him tighter._

_It was as if she wasn't capable of ever letting him go._

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 _"Why live life from dream to dream and dread the day when dreaming ends?" ~_ One Day I'll Fly Away


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finally accepts Tyrion's friendship and both learn to express their true feelings about delicate issues.

* * *

 

**Ours is the fury**

 

* * *

 

 

It had been five days since her first visit, but Sansa stayed by Lord Tyrion's bedside as often as she could, reading him her favorite passages of Ser Dunk's tales at night with hopes that it could help him dream about their favorite knight. The comfort and safety of such tales helped Sansa before, and she believed that if she could reach out to him through them, perhaps he'll wake up soon. It wasn't the most brilliant plan but it was the only thing that makes sense for her at this point.

Sansa stood near him many times before but she never felt so far from him like the way she felt now. Sometimes she would also use his room to hide from Joffrey or to get away from the other noble ladies who would ask her questions about how she felt now that her engagement with the King was moot. Lord Tyrion's recovery room was the only place in Red Keep she could get away from everything after all. In the mornings, she would kneel by his bed and pray for him. With her eyes closed, calmness would wash over her instantly akin to those solitary moments she spent in the Godswood long ago. Yesterday she fell asleep on him while she was kneeling by his bed and was only awoken by her handmaid Shae when she hadn't returned to her own room for hours.

Even after all these things, Lord Tyrion never woke up.

King's Landing had been her prison for almost a year and most days she only thought about escape. It was the only thing that kept her sane every time the kingsguard would beat her. It was the one thing that kept her hopes up though she did not even know how escape was even possible for her. And then she was given opportunities by the Hound and Lord Baelish a week ago to be spirited away from all the horrors, and it baffled her that she accepted neither of their help. There was nothing in this horrible place worth staying for.

And yet somehow, against all logical explanation, whatever she felt for Tyrion Lannister seemed to be keeping her in place. It was hurtful to be tormented by such incomprehensible feelings especially if such feelings were directed towards someone she should never care for. Yes, Lord Tyrion was kind and had never done her injustice, but he was a Lannister and that meant all the difference in the world.

But he also became her friend when he didn't have to be and for that she will always be grateful. Nonetheless, there were events in their lives that are bigger than their friendship. Sansa didn't want to meet him in a crossroad one day where both of them had to choose between their friendship and their families because she knew what her choice will be, and it would be just the same for him.

She supposed it's a blessing in disguise then that Lord Tyrion continued to lay unconscious underneath the covers because Sansa could pretend for another day that they're not doomed to be enemies forever.

Lord Varys stayed with her one time and addressed the misfortune that had befallen in their families. "How could you care for him the way you do, my lady?" He asked her.

"I don't know," she responded. "But as long as he's confined here, I could pretend for a little while that I'm not a Stark and he's not a Lannister. For now, I could just be a girl looking out after my friend."

"You have a brave heart, Lady Sansa," Lord Varys replied. "It is a heart that's always ready to choose love rather than hate and it is your strength. Anyone who tells you otherwise is just jealous of such purity of the soul."

Sansa looked at him and smiled weakly. "Thank you, my lord."

He bowed and then walked out the door. Sansa turned back to Tyrion and placed the embroidery on top of him, the one she had been religiously knitting for a week now. She brushed away the hair from his forehead with one hand and then she kissed four of her fingers from the other.

She pressed them on his forehead as a peace offering.

 

* * *

 

There was no light that greeted him when Tyrion Lannister struggled to open his eyes. The first recognizable feeling, however, was that something was stuck to his face. It burned and itched. He tried to raise a hand to scratch it but his body disobeyed and he soon discovered that he was buried under heavy sheets. He coughed and parted his lips weakly. He tried to speak up. No sound.

Tyrion moved to sit up but he could not. He tried calling out again.

"Podrick?" His voice was rough and it made his throat ache.

The space around him stood still in the dark.

"Podrick?" It was still barely a whisper. Tyrion adjusted his eyesight and moved his hand at last. When he reached for the right side, his fingers got a hold of an object. He shoved it from its place and it fell on the floor with a deafening shatter. Glass? Tyrion thought. Fortunately, it was enough to summon his squire.

"My lord!" Podrick rushed to his side. The boy hugged him to lift him up from the sheets. When Tyrion was able to press his back against the wall, he surveyed his surroundings with a hungry inquiry, eager and desperate to know where he was and how long he's been asleep. Pod had pulled the curtains from somewhere and the light overflowed all around them. Tyrion winced from the blinding contact but hurriedly blinked it away. He could only see with his left eye. Suddenly the remnants of the Blackwater battle rushed back to him and he put back the pieces together.

"My father?" he croaked. "Did we—did we win?"

"Yes, my lord." Pod was removing the layers of blankets above him. "Lord Tywin has placed you here to recover. Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys frequent your chambers as well as the Lady Sansa. Ser Bronn was here yesterday and watched you for a while…well, he drank most of the wine that I prepared for you since last week because I know you like it warm—"

"We—wait…" Tyrion coughed up the words.

"Yes! Yes, my lord, there's wine!" As if reading his thoughts, Podrick ran off only to return minutes after carrying a bottle. He didn't even get to put it in a cup but Tyrion didn't care either. He almost bit into the bottle, suckling it like a woman's tit, and the wine washed away the aching in his throat. Its warmth against his chin was comforting and he swallowed everything, almost emptying the bottle. Podrick placed it on the table and sat on the chair so he could lean close to Tyrion.

"Bronn—" he began, his mouth still struggling to pronounce the words clearly. "Did you just—say Ser Bronn?"

"Yes, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater," Pod replied. "He was knighted by the king."

"Fa—" Tyrion choked a bit as a result of an abrupt laughter. "Fa—fuck me! Bronn's a knight?"

"Well, yes," Pod answered. "He fought bravely."

"Fuck." Tyrion simply remarked. He paused, looking up at the ceiling which looked like it was going to collapse on him anytime. "And has—my family visited?"

Podrick took a while to answer but Tyrion already knew. He asked again. "You—didn't let that old sh-shit handle my wounds alone, d-d-did you?"

"I stayed at your side when Maester Pycelle nursed you, yes."

"Nursed me?" Tyrion tried to laugh but it took too much effort. "Fuck."

"Lord Varys provided the curtains. They were only rags before. He gave more pillows and blankets too. And some incense to get rid of the smell."

"My most kind benefactor," Tyrion waved a hand at Pod. "And what did I break? Was that glass?"

"A mirror, my lord."

"Pick up a shard so I can look at my face."

"My lord, you should—"

"If you say 'get more rest', I will slap you. Now pick it up!"

Podrick bent from his chair and then he was holding a large piece of the broken mirror. Tyrion snatched it from him and raised it up so he could see. The bandage covered half his face. It was flat where half of his nose should be. _So that got chopped off then? Surprising I can still breathe_. With nothing else to do but to find humor in this horrifying spectacle, he managed to chuckle.

"Why, look, Podrick! Look at this ugly, vile creature!" He closed his eyes, feeling them moisten, and laughed some more. His grip on the shard tightened and it cut his palm in a brisk, painful way he found healing. He opened his eyes again and looked. He almost roared. "Look at the monster I've become!"

Podrick didn't share his amusement, however. He spoke up. "Shae's here to see you, my lord. She's outside, waiting for your permission."

Tyrion held onto the piece of glass even when Pod tried to take it away. He merely grimaced and looked to the left while his fingers played with the shard. "Send her in," he commanded. His squire left to get Shae.

When she appeared in the doorway, she just stood there, watching him with eyes he could hardly make sense of from the distance. "Come to me, my lady." Shae walked closed enough but stayed by the foot of his bed.

"What's this?" he asked in angry disbelief. "Do I repulse you?"

In response, Shae walked over to one of the other chairs near the windows and grabbed a blanket. She placed it on top of Tyrion's lap without a word. Feeling less than generous to appreciate such an inexplicable gesture, he was almost tempted to remove it. But then he glanced down at it and saw the yellow flowers. It was embroidery and a very well-crafted one at that. It could only be sewn by someone with a great skill. Tyrion felt his eyes well up with tears again. "She was here every day," Shae spoke up, her voice quiet.

"I was informed."

"But you don't know why she watches after you every day."

"Well then," Tyrion looked up at her. "Tell me."

"Every morning, every afternoon, every night," Shae began, leaning closer to meet him in the eye. "She would stay here, knitting and praying for you. She didn't have to do any of this but you didn't have to save her from Joffrey either. That's why she's doing this because you did the same for her before."

"Are you saying…she did this because she didn't need a reason to?"

"As much as you didn't need a reason to be kind to her, my little lion."

He had nothing concrete to say to that so he kept his mouth shut and traced the yellow flowers with his other hand instead as he still held onto the glass shard. Shae must have noticed but she merely sat by his bed and placed her hands on his chest. This made him look at her again and it pained him to see her gaze at him like that. "You can always leave, you know," he said, without truly meaning it.

"Come with me then," she offered. There was softness in her expression that made him consider that she was being genuine. "We could go to Volantis and start a new life. There are ships about to sail this afternoon. We can escape through boarding one. What do you think, my little lion?"

Tyrion smiled at her but it was hard to maintain. "I can't go with you."

"Why not?"

"If you want, I can provide you gold or money to sail away by yourself."

"Fuck your money!" Shae spat out. "I'm not leaving if you're not coming."

"I don't want to leave, Shae," It hurt him to admit that, to finally own up to his hunger for the game. He tried to explain even if his throat still ached here and there. "Can't you see? I'm good at this—this life with these people and their schemes and conspiracies—the game. I want it. I want it so bad and more than anything." He sniffed and felt angry for feeling so emotionally overwhelmed by the declaration. "I want to stay. This is my life now. It doesn't have to be yours, my lady."

Before he could hear Shae's answer, the door opened and Lord Varys walked in. Tyrion allowed his gaze to wander. The beige robes he wore most times disguised his ambitious intentions effectively. That and the fact that he had no cock. Cersei warned him that such a man is most dangerous for his desires are not driven by lust or aggression. Tyrion despised Lord Varys in many ways but found his counsel and diplomacy to be most soothing at times. The spider foreigner bowed upon sight and began his piece. "I'm relieved that you have fully recovered, my lord. I was very concerned of your health in the last weeks. You were sorely missed."

"Why?" Tyrion sneered at him suspiciously. "I am no longer Hand and therefore of no immediate importance or influence to you anymore. I suppose that father dear has taken that position himself by now." He coughed again. His damn throat itched so much.

"A most practical and necessary move, of course," Lord Varys replied, frowning. "Nevertheless, your contributions and efforts in the battle of Blackwater Bay are of tremendous magnitude." He paused and added with a regretful expression that almost made Tyrion believed he was being genuine. "You have a brave heart, Lord Tyrion, and it saddens me that no one sees it as your strength, let alone recognize you for it. Joffrey and your father will not publicly applaud you for it but it is in my experience that the unsung heroes such as yourself have to contend themselves in anonymity they do not deserve for the good of the realm, that is."

"Heartbreaking," Tyrion clenched his fists and glared at him.

"Indeed." Lord Varys offered a smile that could be mistaken by an imbecile to be kind and then he bowed one last time at Tyrion and left.

Shae snapped her head toward him and remarked in all bitterness. "You still want to stay here, little lion? In this rat's nest of a kingdom that shits on you when all you ever require and desire is appreciation and love?"

Tyrion glared at her this time. He hated her for reading him so easily.

"Run away with me." Shae took the shard of glass from his hand and he let her. When he opened his palm, it was bleeding slightly and Shae lifted it up for a kiss. "Let's start a new life. No one will use or betray you again."

"You can’t guarantee that, my lady." Tyrion gently removed his hand from her grasp. "I am a lion of Casterly Rock. I belong with the conspirers, the two-faced fools, and in the company of ruthless councilmen who share my thirst."

Shae winced at the statement and tried to get away from him but Tyrion grabbed her wrist. "So you are ready to run, aren't you? I cannot blame you."

She narrowed her dark eyes at him for a second and then she breathed out. "I am yours. And you are mine. I will not leave unless you change your mind and come with me. Call yourself whatever disgusting title you see fit but you are my little lion and you will have me. I will stab anyone in the eyes if they dare come between us."

Tyrion gulped down and something sharp fell on his throat but it didn't matter. She was his whore and he'd paid her well. This was just another elaborate fantasy that she was playing him for because he had trained her for it. And yet the way she spoke the words was authentic in tone and delivery that he could truly allow himself to believe that she meant them.

He tried to tell himself that it was just another ruse but when she pulled him into a tight embrace, all his doubts and reservations disappeared and she became all that ever made sense to him and everything that he wanted to keep.

 

* * *

 

The weeks had now blurred together.

Sansa sometimes wondered how she ever made it so far from home and managed to still keep on living despite all the bloodshed and despair that dragged her from under the bed at night with every intention to pillage and rape her. Sansa missed Lady Catelyn and Robb so much. She thought about Arya more often now and wished Bran can still walk and that Rickon didn't have to grow up not knowing who their father was. Sometimes she even dreamed about Jon Snow in the Wall, fighting against the cold that must be haunting his sleep as it did hers.

She wanted to be with her family even if she knew that the possibility that she will never be reunited with them again is lurking near. She didn't care. It didn't matter. As she watched the ships by herself one morning, she found herself making up stories about their journeys and that she was going to every one of them someday. That's all she could ever do in this terrible place; to yearn for flight but can only dream about it. She watched a ship sail away and as her gaze glided across it, the light from the sun struck her eyes and she had to look away. She tried to tell herself that the tears in her eyes were caused by that ray of light and nothing else.

"Lady Stark?"

Lord Petyr Baelish was approaching. She stood up and curtsied even though he was still far from her. When she watched him walk, she instantly recognized the smirk on his face once more, the kind that always troubled her because she mistrusted its intention no matter the sensible words that come out of his mouth.

"Lovely morning," he remarked as he took her hand for a kiss. "But why are you alone, my lady? Shouldn't your handmaid accompany you?"

Sansa opened her mouth but didn't know how to explain Shae's absence. She sneaked away earlier from her chamber but she did expect her handmaid to find her anyway. But she was nowhere in sight. That was curious. When she realized she was being disrespectful for not answering Lord Baelish immediately, she apologized.

"Not a thing to fret about, my dear, just making small talk." Lord Baelish gestured his hand for her sit down again. He took her side as soon as she did.

"So tell me, what are you doing here by yourself?" he nodded at the ships. "Perhaps hatching an escape ruse to get away from the lion's den?"

"My lord, I will never—Joffrey is my king. He is—"

"…your one true love. Really, my sweetling, you need to come up with a better song since you're no longer his betrothed. Let Margaery Tyrell sing that worn-out verse." Lord Baelish placed his hand under her chin to make her look at him. "But don't be quick to change the tone of your songs either. There are worse things to come for you." He lowered his voice. "You're no child anymore so I expect you to understand fully the gravity of the situation you are in."

Another danger? Sansa tried to maintain a neutral expression.

"You can be honest with me, Sansa."

She looked away as she tilted her head to the side so he won't touch her chin anymore. She didn't like him dropping formalities and saying her name like that without even trying to fake courtesy.

Lord Baelish only chuckled and moved closer. "My, you're quite in the mood." He was silent for a while and then he said. "When your mother was younger, she used to play this game. She won't speak to me, and I have to guess why or she will stay quiet to me forever. And I can't have that. She was precious to me. So I tried to figure out what was wrong every time she didn't talk to me."

Sansa couldn't help but listen. She hadn't heard a lot of stories about her mother's girlhood. For that, she looked at him again.

Sensing her change in disposition, he smiled and went on. "I always did figure it out. Always. I realized that the only reason she played that game was because she knew I understood her more than anybody else and that I'll always get her." He looked off now and something very sad crossed his features. Sansa couldn't stop staring at him. "I will always do right by Catelyn Tully no matter what," he trailed off.

"Is that what you told yourself, my lord," Sansa spoke up, "when you watched my father die in the Sept of Baelor…" she willed herself to stop talking but her hands were balled into fists on top of her lap by now so she felt compelled to ask him for the truth. "…that you were doing right by my mother? You were… _honoring_  her?" She didn't mean to make the question sound bitter.

Lord Baelish stopped smiling for a moment. They just stared at each other and Sansa did not dare to disengage eye contact first thought it occurred to her that she was being impolite. But the man knew her mother. He claimed to be fond of her and yet he still counselled their enemies. All she ever wanted was for people to stop lying to her. She was taking it worse from Lord Baelish because she could see it in his eyes every time he talked about her mother: he loved Lady Catelyn. So how could he betray her? How could anyone who loves someone this deeply ever have the strength and inhumanity to rip them apart?

As Sansa contemplated about such morbid thoughts, she didn't notice that he had took both her hands now. She relaxed them on his grasp.

"I told you before that I can and I will take you away if you want it," he said softly. "The offer still stands, Sansa. I would risk it because of the love I bear for your mother—" There it is again, Sansa thought, as she turned her eyes towards the sea, unable to look at him. Lord Baelish went on, "you're being careful. That's good. You should discern the right people to trust. I understand you question my motives but I'm sorry to say, sweetling, they will remain obscure from your view."

"Then how can you expect me to ever trust you?"

He let her hands go. "Call it a leap of faith, little dove."

"Don't call me that." Sansa shot back but she still kept her eyes on the sea. "The queen calls me that."

"Queen regent." He corrected her. "Soon, Margaery will be queen and perhaps she'll be kinder to you. I know that's her intention, seeing as she did send me here to ask you to join her and her grandmother, the great Lady Olenna, in one of the balconies this afternoon."

Sansa breathed out as she interlaced her fingers together. She took a pause before she asked. "What could they want from me?"

"A chance to gaze upon the Lannister's most prized prisoner. What else?"

Sansa swallowed something prickly and finally glanced at him.

Lord Baelish was smirking again. She was growing very fearsome of it. "Do yourself a favor, sweetling, and allow them the satisfaction. We all have parts to play in this dangerous game."

Sansa knit her eyebrows together. "I don't want to play games."

"I'm afraid, my dear," he was rising from his seat, "that you’re running out of options." He took her hand again and kissed it. "And you either play or die."

 

* * *

 

Back in her chambers, Sansa sat in front of her looking glass with a quill on her hand. She looked at her reflection as she tried to think of the best way to weave her thoughts in words she could write on the parchment.

She decided to start with the address.

 

_Lord Tyrion,_

_I write to tell you that I have prayed for you every single night so the gods could make haste of your recovery. I was informed by Lord Varys that you have awoken at last and I was more than relieved to hear that._

 

Sansa paused to read what she wrote. Satisfied, she kept going.

 

_I'm afraid I cannot see you for now but if you ask for me then perhaps such a meeting could be arranged. But I believe that there won't be a reason to justify us talking again. I am no longer betrothed to the king and you are no longer his Hand. I do not wish to put you in a compromising situation, my lord. You no longer have an investment at stake. You are also no longer obliged to concern yourself with my welfare. I understand this completely, Lord Tyrion._

Sansa looked up from her reflection again. She went back to writing.

 

_I also understand that I was no longer that girl from the far North either. She was a child of thirteen who dreamed of a prince to take her away and make her his bride. I no longer want such a thing so badly like I used to because it wasn't everything I thought I wanted and it didn't turn out as I hoped. I should have listened to the Stark words better for winter did come, my lord. It came for all of us and it left a wound in me I never expect to heal. But alas, I remain a slave to my dreams because what I truly and inexplicably long for in spite of all this was_

 

She stopped writing again so she could close her eyes and stop the tears from leaking out. A few minutes passed before she took the quill once more.

 

_to be happy. To find love. For things never to end so wrongly but instead to always begin with the right song. Like songs that remind me of childhood where the world was small and entirely mine alone. No nightmares or ghouls. No death. No darkness. And everyone could sing what's in their hearts and everyone can fly and live their lives however they want. Forgive me, my lord. I suppose I'm still that girl from the far North after all but at the same time I utterly feel different and even foreign to who I used to be. I look at my reflection sometimes and a stranger greets me._

 

She pushed the parchment away so she would not get tears on it. Lord Varys visited her chambers earlier bearing more bad news from the North. Theon Greyjoy had seized Winterfell and…killed my little brothers…covered their bodies in tar and hang them. Theon was raised as a Stark. How could he committ such evil deeds?

Sansa covered her face and waited for another minute to compose herself. It was hard to believe she ever found the strength to keep writing again.

 

 _But that stranger doesn't scare me. Perhaps one day she will introduce herself to me and I may never have to be alone again because I have her._ _Please stay safe, my lord. Lord Varys mentioned your courage in the battlefield. I've also heard from the other handmaids and servants that you stood up against the enemies and led the army long enough before your father arrived._

 _Thank you for being brave, my lord._ _I hope to hear from you soon._

 

She was already rolling the parchment just in time when Shae showed up. "Where were you?" she asked.

Her handmaid walked pass her to change the sheets of her bed. "I was just around. Did you want something?"

"Yes," Sansa wanted to deliver her letter to Lord Tyrion as soon as possible but as she watched Shae folding her sheets, a memory from the Blackwater battle that haunted her for weeks had surfaced again. "Can I talk to you about something?"

Shae looked at her. "You can talk and I will always listen."

She didn't know how to begin so she just sat there for a while, clutching the rolled parchment. Shae inquired what it was but she said that it was just one of her lessons from Septa Lorraine. She placed the parchment inside of a drawer. "It's something I can't be able to discuss freely," she began.

"Try," Shae steadied her gaze on hers and placed the folded sheets back on the bed so she could approach her.

Sansa cleared her throat and placed her hands neatly on her lap. "The night during the battle, the Hound came to my room."

Shae kept quiet so Sansa went on. "He deserted the king. He was scared of the fire. He was…an utter mess and I was trying to make it all better."

Without a single word, Shae tucked Sansa's hair on her left ear as gently as possible and then she looked into her eyes and asked. "How did you make it all better?" Before Sansa could think of the answer, Shae cupped both her cheeks and said in a rough tone. "He did not invite himself to your bed, did he?"

Sansa's silence was enough for her so she pulled away and turned her back abruptly to pick up the sheets on the bed so she could fold them again.

"Nothing happened," Sansa began but Shae faced her again with an expression that reminded her of her mother's whenever she scolds Arya.

"You meant he didn't go further?"

"I didn't let it!" Sansa answered back, raising her voice in frustration. "It was a terrible moment for everyone that night. We were at war and he came to me and I thought I could make it all better. I wanted to help him, Shae, please don't be angry…" she bit her lower lip and focused really hard not to tear up.

"Sweet Sansa," her handmaid's arms were around her neck as she pulled her into an embrace. "I understand. You want to take care of him the same way you took care of those women in the shelter. But you can't all save them."

"He cried." Sansa closed her eyes. "I remember. I felt his tears."

"Hush now," Shae cupped her cheeks again. "So he kissed you? Put his hands on your chest? Tried to," she paused. "Tried to put himself inside you—"

"Please," Sansa stood up and rushed to a corner somewhere. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I just want to forget."

"Don't." Shae remarked. "Never forget it." Her handmaid walked to her. "Listen to me, Lady Sansa. You're no child. You offered yourself to him that night and there is no shame in that except that you didn't know what you were doing. You weren't in control. So come here," she took her hand. "Let me explain it to you."

When they were sitting on the bed, Shae said. "I'm not asking you to kill a man the next time he tried to lay his hand on you. I'm not going to tell you about what to do when a mob tries to rape you again because the only thing you could do then is run and fight back with all you got. No, this is something else entirely different from that. This is about what you should do," Shae took both her hands now, "when you want to be with a man without completely losing yourself to him during the act."

Sansa was tempted to cover her ears but Shae was gripping her wrists. "But…don't I just have to…lie there?"

"What?"

"On the…bed during my wedding night…"

Shae chuckled which made Sansa's cheeks flush. "Did you just lie there when the Hound was on top of you?"

"Yes," Sansa tried to remember. "I think…I touched him. I held onto him. He was in armor. I don't…think we should talk about this anymore."

"My lady," Shae comforted her. "Don't be afraid. These things will happen to you now that you've bled. You will feel certain things words can never explain but a single touch can. A single touch…" she traced her finger on Sansa's cheek, "…that's all it takes sometimes to unravel you."

Something was stuck on Sansa's throat and she couldn't breathe well anymore.

"This is why you must be prepared," Shae added. "You need to assert control. One moment of lust can undo anyone, my lady, even noble lords and ladies. With the beauty you possess, both kinds will line up in front of you."

Sansa didn't want to hear any more of this. "I understand. Everyone would either desire me for my body, or marry me for my wealth."

_But nobody would want or marry me for love._

"Don't sound so gloomy," Shae patted her knee and then she stood up. "You are Sansa Stark. That still means something to the rest of us."

Sansa wondered. _What else can I be but property to be traded or sold?_

 

* * *

 

Tyrion tried not to scratch his wound beneath the bandage as he sat across his father. The new Hand of the King was too preoccupied to notice him come in. "The badge looks good on you," Tyrion remarked as he stared at the empty goblet on his hand. He had drunk his second cup earlier and Tywin Lannister still didn't look at him. "Almost as good as it looked on me."

"What do you want, Tyrion?" The father finally acknowledged his son. "You enjoyed being Hand, I'm well aware. Now don't waste my time."

"I was just wondering why you never visited me," Tyrion began. "At least Cersei stopped by and we know how she always felt about me."

"You're no stranger to her repugnance." Tywin answered.

"I wasn't sure I deserved it and you don't seem to discourage her of it."

"Again, what do you want from me?"

Tyrion shifted on his seat. "What do you think? You forgot to visit your wounded son after he fell on the battlefield." Tyrion wanted to drink again but stopped himself. "I organized the defense of this city. I led the foray when the enemies are at the gate while your grandson, the king, quivered in fear behind the castle walls." He placed the goblet on the table with a loud thud to get his father's attention. "I bled in the mud for our family. And as my reward, I was trundled off in some dark little cell. So what do I want?"

Tywin Lannister finally looked him in the eye.

Tyrion didn't hesitate then. "A little bloody gratitude would be a start."

With a graceful manner, Tywin rose from his seat but kept his eyes on his son the whole time. "I sent you here to advise the king but instead you brought a whore to my bed and you beat Joffrey senseless—"

"He was abusing Sansa Stark! He will cut her up had I not intervened!"

Tywin's voice hardened. He clearly didn't appreciate being interrupted. He went on. "I gave you real power and authority. You chose to spend your days, as you always have, bedding harlots and drinking with thieves."

"Sometimes I drink with the whores," Tyrion remarked wryly. "All I want is to be acknowledged for my efforts in the battlefield. I want to be recognized by the stupid king himself that I held his city's defense even when—"

"Like a juggler and a singer who require applause, is that what you are now? Are you not a Lannister? Will you be demanding a garland of roses every time you would suffer a wound in a battlefield?"

Tyrion kept his mouth shut. He was biting on his tongue literally he could just chew on it and spit it out. He kept his eyes on the goblet before him now.

"Well then," Tywin crossed the table to get to him so he could get a better look at his disappointing child. "I have seven kingdoms to look after and three of them are in open rebellion so whatever it is that you want from me, be quick about it."

"I want what is mine by right," Tyrion found his voice at last. "Jaime is a Kingsguard, forbidden from marriage and inheritance." He met Tywin Lannister's gaze boldly. "What I want is Casterly Rock. I am your son and lawful heir. Casterly Rock is mine by right." He couldn't believe he was able to say those words without flinching.

It was always hard to read Tywin's inscrutable expression. He was silent for a long time. When he spoke up, there was no hint of emotion in his voice. He reserved that for people he actually cared about. He would never spare Tyrion that.

"You will be rewarded for your accomplishments in the Blackwater battle. You will be given a position fit your talents so you can serve your family and protect our legacy. And if you served faithfully, you may even be rewarded with a suitable wife."

Tyrion breathed out and balled his fists. He tried again. "But father—"

"You killed your mother to come into the world."

The hall stood still between them as soon as the statement left his father's mouth. Tywin could no longer maintain his façade. Tyrion could see in his face all those years he hated him. Just like Cersei, his father has always wanted him dead a long time ago. The pain from seeing that so clear and true on Tywin's face for the first time was like having ice scrapped inside him everywhere. His wound didn't just itch now. It burned.

It didn't end though. His father kept talking as if the point didn't deliver home when it already did. It nestled on Tyrion's chest and festered there.

"I would rather be consumed by maggots than see you be named heir to Casterly Rock." His father walked away from him and back to the table. But the words kept pouring out of his mouth, killing Tyrion each time they struck. "You are an ill-made, spiteful little creature, full of envy, lust and low cunning. I cannot prove that you are not mine. I had to watch you waddle around wearing the proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him."

Tyrion listened to him rant and felt his heart harden with each cruel sentiment. And Tywin Lannister didn't stop until he was sure that Tyrion was destroyed from where he sat. "But neither gods nor men will ever compel me to let you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse!"

Tywin turned a page from the book he was writing on. He couldn't bear to gaze at Tyrion anymore. "Now leave. Speak no more of your rights to the family name because you were never an important part of it."

The stone floor beneath Tyrion painfully pushed back on his weight as if it could tear off his ankles but he didn't show it as he walked out of the door.

 

* * *

 

His squire Podrick was running towards him, clutching something on one hand. "My lord, I have some good news…" he must have noticed the dark expression on Tyrion's face so he lowered his voice. "The lady Sansa writes."

He handed him the rolled parchment.

Tyrion hurriedly entered his chambers so he could read it.

_…winter did come, my lord. It came for all of us…_

_…what I truly long for in spite of all this was to be happy…_

_…love._

_…for things to begin with the right song…_

_…songs that remind me of childhood…_

_…no nightmares or ghouls…death…darkness…_

_…everyone could sing what's in their hearts…_

_…live their lives however they want._

Tyrion stared at the last two sentences on the letter.

_Thank you for being brave, my lord._

"That was all I've ever wanted," he said aloud as he chuckled.  _I don't need titles or lands or your love, father. All I want was_  "A little bloody gratitude."

He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before the tears came and then he sniffed and chuckled again.

Still holding the letter, he smiled at her writing and said. "It's a start."

 

* * *

 

It was Ser Loras who approached her as Sansa was walking in the garden. She was astounded by his presence at first, seeing as he still looked as fresh and exquisite as ever in his dark green garments with golden laces. His hair was shorter now but it still had those curls that elegantly framed his handsome face. Sansa can't suppress her glee at the mere sight of him.

She couldn't come up with any more words to describe and capture him in all his beauty and charm.

"My lady," Ser Loras offered his arm and she took it, her eyes fixed on him the whole time. By gods, the sunlight seems to live in each strand of his hair. In just a few minutes, Ser Loras made her feel young again. She's fourteen and that's hardly old, but given everything that has happened—it's just nice to feel young once more.

"I trust that you had a lively morning," he remarked.

"Yes, Ser Loras. Thank you." Sansa paused, smiling to herself as they walked across a line of roses. She glanced at one and thought about the sigil of House Tyrell. They were the only house in Westeros that seemed perfectly content using a flower as their sigil. Sansa have always wondered about that. A rose is not exactly a formidable symbol. A thought had occurred to Sansa then. "Ser, we've met before, have we not? Back in King Robert's tourney, you gave me a rose. Do you recall?"

"Have I?" Ser Loras barely looked at her. "I'm sorry, I give lots of flowers to ladies." He made a sweeping gaze at her then back to where they were headed. "If I did then I sincerely hope it has made you happy, Lady Stark."

"Yes, very much," Sansa looked to the side and tried to lessen her smile.

When she looked ahead of her again, Sansa could see Margaery Tyrell already standing at the next corner, waiting. She had the most beautiful brown hair that curls in all the right places. She almost rivals Ser Loras' beauty. Sansa curtsied before her and then Ser Loras gave her away for his sister to wrap an arm around her.

"My dear Lady Stark," Margaery Tyrell began, tightening her grip on Sansa's arm warmly. "I'm so happy to finally make your acquaintance. You are as painfully elegant as they say you are." With the other hand, she grazed the tip of her index finger under Sansa's chin so she could look some more. Sansa tried not to blush.

"You are very kind to say so, my lady."

"Grandmother," Margaery Tyrell called out as they neared the balcony. "She's here."

Olenna Redwyne regarded Sansa with a curt glance which didn't linger. She had her hands on her lap the whole time as she spoke. "Well, look at that. A lamb. I thought Starks are supposed to be wolves. This girl looks as meek as any lamb could get." She let out a chuckle. "I'm sorry, my dear. I've met your mother many years ago when she was young. She's a spirited one even if she tried to conceal it with her courtly manners. Cat is a fine Tully and you have her looks. But are you as firm and graceful like she was? I wonder…"

Sansa wasn't even sitting when the older woman scrutinized her like that and then chattered on. She understood by instinct why they call her the Queen of Thorns.

"Grandmother, don't spook her." Margaery beamed at Sansa. "I'm sure Stark women have their own charms. Isn't she very beautiful?"

"Ah yes, as far as prisoners go, she truly is," the Queen of Thorns munched on a cracker and then gestured at Sansa with that hand. "Now I had you summoned here because I want to see just how precious you are that it makes you worth being locked up away from home. And yes, now I see it." The older woman leaned in and smiled. "The Lannisters have great taste, I can give them that."

Sansa opened her mouth to speak. "The queen regent was very hospitable. She took me in despite of my family's treason."

"It must have been so awful for you living here," Margaery frowned at her.

"No," Sansa said in her singsong way. "Joffrey is a generous king."

"Oh?" Lady Olenna narrowed her eyes at Sansa. "That's comforting. Tell us about this boy king. You understand I'm only concerned about my beloved granddaughter's future prospects. Let me know what you think of that."

"Lady Margaery is the luckiest noble lady in the seven kingdoms," Sansa answered, citing her verse well. "She's blessed by the gods to have someone as gallant as Joffrey Baratheon for her lord husband," she glanced at Margaery. "A most prosperous union, I pray." Sansa gave a smile, trying to make it seem warm and welcoming even if there's a sick feeling stabbing her on the chest as she spoke.

Margaery Tyrell was a delicate rose as people told her. Joffrey would crush her petals himself. Would Sansa lie some more, knowing that it will lead to her demise?

"Prosperity?" The Queen of Thorns seemed amused by that. "Lady lamb, the Tyrells have prospered for centuries now. We have bountiful gardens back from where we come from. They're bigger than all the balconies here in Red Keep," she raised both her hands to gesture. "We've cultivated the earth where our house has stood for generations after generations. We've enriched it with a variety of fruits, vegetables, trees, flowers—all the natural things the gods only hand out to their most favored servants. And as such we do the same with our alliances which are always found in good faith," she leaned in to Sansa, "and in loyal service. I could tell you're a girl who knows where her allegiances lie."

"I'm pleased for you to regard me in such a generous spirit, my lady. Thank you." Sansa replied. "I knew stories about Highgarden and they're all marvelous tales about how it resembles a paradise, that it's akin to an oasis surrounded by a desert."

Lady Olenna chuckled at that and kept her eyes on Sansa as she called out for one of the squires who rushed to her side immediately. "Get us some of those lemoncakes. I've heard that they're your favorite, lady lamb."

"Yes," Sansa answered, trying to conceal her surprise. "You're most gracious. I do love lemoncakes. Thank you, my lady."

"Now tell us more about Joffrey," Margaery leaned in, her hand now touching Sansa's. "I'm to marry him in a few months. I would like to know what he's like through your perspective. You were betrothed to him once after all."

"I've already told you, my lady—"

"You merely sang praises like a good little girl which I'm sure you are," the Queen of Thorns snorted. She drank from her goblet and then went on. "As his bride once, you talked to him a lot more than any other ladies in court. I'm sure he's a gallant king and all that, but what is he like as a young man. We want to know."

"Brave and gentle," Sansa replied without missing a beat. "He offers you kindness and he shares his riches to anyone whom he deems worthy."

The two women stared at her for a while. Sansa wondered if she's doing anything wrong. Margaery spoke first. "Sansa," she said, "you can tell us anything and it will stay among the three of us. I promise you."

"We're all women, lady lamb," Lady Olenna added. "We're on your side."

"Forgive me," Sansa replied. "I don't know what else you want me to say. Joffrey is my king. My beloved king. He is my one true love."

"Then it must make you angry that he's marrying someone else," Lady Olenna took the plate of lemoncakes and made Sansa reach for a piece as she kept regarding her with those steely blue eyes. Was she trying to bait her?

"No, nothing like that." Sansa took a bite of the lemoncake and then she answered. "Joffrey's happiness is also my happiness. I would do anything—"

"You!" Lady Olenna suddenly pointed at one of the squires. "I heard you have a lovely voice and that you used to be a traveling musician. Would you care to sing a song? Something to brighten up the mood of this terribly dry occasion—no offense, my dear," the older woman patted her knee. "But I'd rather listen to a squire sing a song than hear you recite that dreadfully pretentious verse you have going."

Sansa was shocked. "My lady, I did not mean to—"

"Don't worry about offending me, lady lamb," the Queen of Thorns winked at her. "If you don't try to disrespect me a little then you are not worth talking to."

The squire had a lyre ready. "What song, my lady?"

Lady Olenna glanced at her granddaughter and Margaery said. "I would like to hear The Bear and the Maiden Fair. It's one of my favorites as a child," she placed her hand on Sansa's again. "Do you know the song? Quite wicked, if you ask me." Margaery's smile was a bit suggestive which made Sansa looked off, blushing.

Of course she knew the song. Her handmaids sing it all the time and laugh among themselves when they do. Sansa never understood why.

The squire cleared his throat but before he could begin, Lady Olenna said. "I'd like all of the squires and handmaids to sing along, actually. And make it loud like you're trying to rip my ears off. It's all right if you don't harmonize. Pretend like you're drunk with ale in some tavern somewhere. Go wild with it!"

Sansa couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or audacious and neither could the rest of the servants but they gathered around the three of them and began to sing. Once they were singing together (which didn't sound as bad as she hoped it would be), Margaery took her hand again and placed it on her lap this time. "My lady, listen to me," she said as she got out of her chair so she could kneel in front of Sansa. The position was demeaning but she didn't seem to care. "No one will hear what you say at this moment. You could whisper if you want, if that makes you feel safer. But we could tell that you are lying about something."

"No, my lady, I'm—"

"Shh," With her other hand, Margaery placed her hand on Sansa's cheek. "We could be sisters, you and I. But you need to take a risk with me."

Sansa bit her lower lip then glanced back at Lady Olenna who was pretending to coach the servants to sing with both her hands. She looked back at Sansa and asked. "Do you want them to sing louder, my dear?"

Sansa shook her head and then she said. "I don't know what you want me to say, my ladies. I think the king would make you happy, lady Margaery. He will be loyal and true and—"

"You're out of tune, Lady Stark," the Queen of Thorns pointed at her. "And my granddaughter means it, you know. You could be sisters. I certainly don't mind."

"I beg your pardon?" Now Sansa is more confused than ever.

"Once I'm married to Joffrey and I became queen," Margaery explained, taking both of Sansa's hands and closing them around hers, "we could have you marry Loras. It could be one of my very first royal decrees."

Sansa couldn't speak so Margaery kept talking. "You must come to Highgarden someday, Sansa. You are so beautiful and full of hope. I could see it. You could be happy there with my brother. You can bear him sons and they would have red hair like yours. And the children could play under the sun and eat berries all day long."

Sansa could actually see the picture clearly in her head and it hurt.

"I would name them Brandon and Rickon," she whispered softly.

Margaery smiled at her once more and then she cupped her cheeks.

The servants continued to sing (and wail) around them and their conflicting tones was overpowering that Sansa could hardly hear herself speak. When she glanced at the Queen of Thorns, she was saying. "Not a bad bargain, isn't it, lady lamb? Not bad at all for a traitor's daughter."

 _A traitor's daughter_ …Was that all she was to the world now?

Margaery must have noticed her expression because she took Sansa's hands again and squeezed. "I'm sorry about your father and how he died—"

"Joffrey did that," Sansa snapped. Her voice was soft but there was a darker tone underneath it as she spoke. "He told me he loved me and when I asked for his mercy, he cut my father's head off and put it on a spike. And then he took me to the walls and made me look at it," Sansa gritted her teeth.

"For twenty-five days he would make me go there. Every morning. Every afternoon. Every night. He would make me look at my father's head until it was no longer his face that I see. Until it all rotted away. Until it no longer resembled the man I loved…" she swallowed her tears away and tightened her grip on Margaery's hands.

Anger blazed through her with such a force that she thought she will explode. She was already feeling dizzy but she kept willing herself to stay strong as she glanced at the Queen of Thorns to tell her as quietly as she could, "He's a monster."

Lady Olenna gestured at her servants and they all stopped singing at once. And then she glanced at her granddaughter who only shrugged her shoulders. "That's unfortunate to hear," the older woman remarked. "But we women make the most out of the circumstances, don't we? Tell me, my dear, what do you want?"

Sansa glanced at Margaery who nodded her head kindly and then back at the Queen of Thorns. She answered. "I want love."

It sounded ridiculous when she said it aloud but it lifted a weight from her shoulders that she didn't expect it could. "It's all I've ever wanted."

 

* * *

 

Tyrion traced his fingers across the pale red cover of his favorite book. It was withered by time and the dusty corners where he would hide it in his room. But the tales within the pages do not seem to age the same way at all. Tyrion allowed himself a smile as he perused through Ser Dunk's adventures. Every time Tyrion holds this book, he still felt like eight years old and learning the stories for the first time.

He placed it aside so he could begin writing the letter to Sansa Stark.

 

_Lady Sansa,_

_It warms my heart that you dutifully stayed by my sickbed for weeks when it is not your obligation to do so. Were you aware that neither my father nor sister visited my chambers the whole time? It's not a strange thing for my family to neglect me, however. I've grown quite accustomed to it over the years. This is why it makes all the difference in the world that you chose to visit me every day, my lady, where my family failed to do so. I would be remiss if I do not extend the same compassion as you did. I also saw the embroidery you have made for me and it's spectacular. Your skills are unparalleled, if I may be allowed to say so._

 

Tyrion paused, tapping his index finger on his chin as he thought of what to write next. For some reason, he had the feeling he knew exactly what to say but was hesitant to expose himself to her. But perhaps by sharing a piece of him that he denied from other people, she might begin to trust him. Isn't that the point of disclosure? Tyrion didn't want to manipulate her into liking him as if he had done so in the past. This friendship was far too important for such a ploy.

Sighing, he decided to write how he feels no matter how ashamed he is for having such feelings. Besides, there was no one else to tell.

 

_I had the most enlightening conversation with my father earlier. The great Tywin Lannister was preoccupied with fixing the problems of the seven kingdoms at this moment so I suppose he couldn't spare some time to mend fences with me. I was merely waiting for him to acknowledge my acts of valor during the battle but he couldn't even do that. Out of spite, I suppose, I asked to be named heir of Casterly Rock. I happen to know it's my birthright. I'm his son. Unfortunately, he and I still disagree on that. He said I was ill-made because I killed my mother when she birthed me. I have never been so angry in my entire life to hear him speak of me that way even if I knew that's how he felt all along. But perhaps I judge the man too harshly. I heard from our maesters that when my father married Joanna Lannister, he was the happiest man alive. She was undoubtedly the best part of him, they say. I suppose losing her was like losing that part of himself that felt love and could give love. For that, I can sympathize with the pain of losing the woman one loved. I lost my own not long ago and he was also the cause. I suppose that makes it even._

_Lannisters pay their debts the hard way, my lady._

 

Tyrion chuckled to himself and shook his head. He read what he wrote so far and was tempted to crumple the parchment. But he kept writing some more.

 

_Since we are on the subject of my mother, I would like to give you Ser Dunk's adventures. You don't need to borrow it anymore because it's yours now. I was told that it was Joanna Lannister's favorite book. When I found out it was hers, I stole it from my father's chambers and have read it over and over every night since. But I need to let go now. I also believe you may need it more than I do. I hope you will have fewer nightmares as soon as you have this book by your bedside._

_Thank you for saying such things, my lady. Your version of the world will exist one day. I don't know when or how but it could still happen. They say that this world is no longer a romantic place. But there are people in it who still are..._

 

* * *

 

Sansa sat by her bed with the book of Ser Dunk's adventures by her side. She read his letter thrice now and she still smiled every time she got to the end.

 

_Don't let the world win, Sansa Stark._

 

As soon as she felt the tears come, she pressed the parchment against her lips and kissed it. And then she folded it neatly and hid it between the pages of the book. She then laid her head on the pillows with the book resting on her chest. Sansa opened it from the last page she read weeks ago and recited the words to herself.

They washed over her until the pain and fear that filled a void in her heart for months were replaced by new songs instead.

She sang along with a stronger voice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

" _When you lose something you can't replace, I will try to fix you"_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Tyrion continue to nurture their growing camaraderie through exchanging letters of earnest sentiments, only to have their feelings trampled by malicious outside forces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone!~ This chapter is going to...hurt. Take heed.

* * *

 

 

**Winter is coming**

 

 

* * *

 

 

_My dearest Lord Tyrion,_

_I’ve been spending my afternoons with Margaery Tyrell. She was quite gracious to accompany me during my lessons with Septa Cora. Did you know that she could play the lyre? She plays the instrument with more skill than I ever did and I was quite envious as I watched her pluck the strings with a magnificence I’ve never seen before in a noble lady. I suppose all Tyrell women must be gifted with songs and Lady Margaery could possibly be the most gifted of them. I don’t think anyone is as beautiful and kind and as gentle as she._

_Forgive me, I’m getting lost in my reveries. I had a sister once and her name was Arya. I’m not sure if she still lives and every day my hopes of ever seeing her again grow fainter. I do not want to cause Arya’s memory an injustice but it’s almost as if Lady Margaery is the sister I’ve always wanted. Arya never tried to involve herself with the activities expected of noble ladies. She was far too stubborn and uncouth. But sometimes when I talk to Lady Margaery, I wish Arya was more like her. But it doesn’t matter if that will ever happen because I doubt it. Our father once told me that Arya will do whatever she likes and that will get her in trouble. He also advised me that I should find a way to ensure that she stays safe. I never understood why I had to look after her when she bore no love for me. But the more I get comfortable with Lady Margaery, the more it hurts to know that Arya is never going to be a part of my life again. I will not delude myself to think otherwise. There’s always been a wedge between us and I don’t think she will ever forgive me if she found out that I went to the queen regent before to inform her of our father’s plans._

_I could not forgive myself for it either. Why should I hope she would? But I do miss her, Lord Tyrion. I’m happy to have Lady Margaery’s friendship but it only makes me regret the things I never got to do with Arya. We were sisters but I didn’t try hard enough to be her friend. I wished the queen regent herself would realize this soon and extend you friendship before it’s too late. If that doesn’t happen, I would like to comfort you with the fact that at least you and I have become friends._

_I didn’t want it. I never wished it. But here we are and that’s good enough for me. I cannot keep you safe but know that I pray for it all the time, Lord Tyrion._

 

* * *

 

“I know about him,” Every time Margaery Tyrell smiled like that, it could almost radiate across the room. “The hedge knight Ser Dunk that you speak of.”

Sansa beamed back at her. “He’s such a wonderful story, don’t you think?”

“He’s more than a story.” Margaery replied as she laced the next few threads together for the mittens she’d been knitting for an hour now. “He’s a legend.”

“He really did live before, my lady?” Sansa couldn’t help but imagine how handsome and gallant the hedge knight must have been. “I’ve read that he championed the weak and fought not only for gold and glory but for love for mankind and country.”

Margaery started to chuckle aloud as though she was very much amused with what Sansa just said. She shook her head and answered. “A hedge knight as brave and strong as Ser Dunk may be all these things you speak of, but he still primarily serves those whose purses can fill his pockets.”

“I don’t contest that,” Sansa admitted. “But Ser Dunk was still able to perform certain duties regardless if there is gold or not. That’s what the tales taught me.”

“A noble knight is a rarity these days,” Margaery remarked. “It’s puzzling how we can afford to appoint so many of them and yet only a few truly uphold themselves in a higher moral ground.” She took Sansa’s left hand and asked. “May I, my lady? I want to see if the gloves fit.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sansa blushed. “You didn’t have to—”

“Nonsense!” With her hand wrapped around Sansa’s wrist, Margaery grinned and pushed the glove gently into Sansa’s fingers. The material snuggled well in her hand and felt very comfortable and warm. “Look how it fits you! Isn’t it the loveliest thing?” Margaery’s laughter sounded as delicate as chiming bells.

“Yes,” Sansa felt her cheeks getting warmer as well. Before she could pronounce more words of gratitude, Septa Lorraine was back in the room, carrying a basket filled parchments. She bowed at them and then handed Sansa the papers.

“That’s a heavy load of homework, my dearest.” Margaery remarked. “Surely you’ve developed an expertise in arithmetic by now.”

“I sure hope I had,” Sansa answered, lowering her voice as she cautiously avoided the septa’s gaze. “I find numbers to be the most enjoyable distraction.”

Septa Lorraine spoke up. “How lovely to hear I provide you with distractions.”

Sansa opened her mouth to reply but Margaery jumped in. “I’m sure Lady Stark did not mean anything disparaging about it,” she glanced at Sansa and added. “I think what she was trying to say is that she's very grateful that the emptiness of her days have been filled with numbers lately. It brings her comfort.”

Sansa nodded meekly at that although she much preferred the songs in the afternoon. Septa Cora and Margaery could have been sisters themselves too, and their music has taken away a great deal of heaviness from Sansa. On the other hand, even though the older septa was as alienating as ever, Sansa has grown more comfortable in her presence and she answered every equation Septa Lorraine imparted with a more stable focus than the earlier days. None of this would have been possible if it wasn’t for her patron. She smiled to herself as she thought about the letter that is waiting for her in her chambers. She received it this morning but hasn’t found time to read it just yet. She wanted to be discreet as much as possible after all. No one in Red Keep must know the nature of her relationship with Tyrion. They have become fast friends in an inexplicable manner and that must be guarded at whatever cost. She knew not everyone could understand their friendship especially since she still couldn’t wrap her head around it either.

Margaery noticed her silence and remarked on it. “Who occupies your thoughts, my love?”

Sansa cleared her throat and looked to the side. “No one of importance.”

“If he’s been in your mind a lot more times than you can count, then clearly he must be special.” The Tyrell soon-to-be queen teased.

“My lady, please,” Sansa replied. “It’s nothing like that. He’s a friend.”

Margaery smiled again. “That’s how it always starts, sweetling.”

Sansa wasn’t sure how to respond to that anymore especially with Septa Lorraine glancing at them right now. She was also distracted with the painful way her smile persisted in her mouth as she once again thought about his letter.

 

* * *

 

“Master of coin?” Tyrion was livid. “Assigning me the treasury is worse than the plumbing job I got in Casterly Rock!” He paced around the room while Varys sat on the other side of the room with an expression of detached calmness.

“I thought you’d be more pleased with your new obligation.”

“The crown has an awful amount of debt, as you may know,” Tyrion remarked. “And though it has always fascinated me how Baelish ever managed to handle the finances, I do not have any ambition to replace him to do such a dreary occupation. I believe spending gold rather than budgeting it is what I am better at.” He let out an exasperated sigh and then immediately started to crave the taste of wine in his mouth again. He called out for his squire.

“You’re looking at this the wrong way, my lord.” Varys remained unfazed as he spoke up. “You just gained an advantage. Money puts you back in a more formidable position of power, does it not?”

Tyrion wasn’t sure if he can believe that for certain. The Hand was the best strategic occupation in King’s Landing but now his father has reclaimed that honor. He considered himself fairly competent with numbers, but he didn't want to waste his time in his chambers with nothing but numbers to numb the days away. That’s a fate worse than death.

Podrick handed him the goblet and Tyrion would have devoured the entire cup as he drank, sulking like a petulant child. Varys looked more amused now.

“In any case, I have faith that you will make the most of this opportunity.”

“Oh yes, watch me work my magic.” Tyrion retorted. Even sarcasm has become tiresome for him now. He wondered if he could send for Shae tonight without arousing suspicion. Thinking about seeing Shae again did improve his mood a bit, but it also made him think about the Stark girl. His eyes wandered to his desk where her letter was. He slowly looked away so Varys won’t suspect that something was amiss. He said. “I’m nothing if not resourceful. But I do ask that you assist me in any capacity in case I die of boredom one day and rendered unable to finish the computations.” He sipped from his cup as he watched Varys laugh.

“Anything I could do to serve, I am at your command,” the spider bowed.

“I guess that would be all,” Tyrion announced. “Thank you for the company. I’d offer you wine but I’ve already finished the bottle.”

“Your third for the day, I believe,” Varys remarked. “Forgive me for asking but are you and the queen regent having a contest as to who would finish more wine today?” Without waiting for an answer, Varys was already walking toward the door.

“If we are then trust me, Lord Varys,” Tyrion grinned at him. “My loving sister is winning.” He opened the door so Varys could leave.

Tyrion almost spat into his cup as he thought about Cersei again. Sansa has mentioned her in the letter after she talked about her own sister Arya. Playing the goblet on his hand, Tyrion headed to his desk to retrieve the letter. He re-read its contents and wondered if his response was sufficient enough. If he’s being really honest with himself, Tyrion wasn’t sure how to feel about this development so far. It’s plain as day that the Stark girl was learning to trust him. She confirmed that they are indeed friends which still surprises him every time he thinks about it. But isn’t this what he desired? He came to her aid many times and provided for her schooling at that. He defended her from Joffrey and Cersei, and he encouraged her to start rebuilding her life even if it’s inside this prison of a kingdom. And he did all of this because he saw a piece of family in Sansa he hasn’t found anywhere else, save perhaps with Jaime. Tyrion smiled when he thought about his brother. And then he remembered he talked about Jamie in length as well in his letter. He’s only now realizing how embarrassing it may have been for her to read that.

Tyrion glanced back at her words in the parchment and felt warmth spreading across his chest which made him more uncomfortable than he already is. Was he truly in her prayers as she claimed? Did she think about him as often as he thought about her? Tyrion placed both the goblet and the letter away so he could rub his hands against his eyes as he yawned. He hadn't been sleeping well and if anything should keep him up at night, he’d rather have a woman’s flesh to do just that.

Perhaps he will send for Shae after all. He tried to think about her hair and her face. He imagined the smoothness of her skin and the deftness of those highly skilled hands. But with eyes closed all he could think about was Sansa crying in his arms that night a long time ago. He remembered the way she looked at him when he tried to kiss her as if she was only seeing him for the first time. He could never forget how her radiant hair seems to eclipse the sun itself. It ached to look at her sometimes but Tyrion could picture her clearly now; the gorgeous hair with a halo of yellow flowers on the top of her head; the haunting sadness in her pale blue eyes. He even imagined her grip on his hand when she wished for his return from the Blackwater battle. As his reveries about her deepened, Tyrion abruptly opened his eyes and snapped himself out of then. No, he shouldn’t be thinking about the child in such a vivid manner. Irritated that he almost lost himself in her memory like that, Tyrion grabbed his goblet and shouted for wine. Podrick came in the moment he did that Tyrion wondered if the boy was just standing outside the door the whole time.

He eyed him suspiciously as his squire poured him a drink. “Have you given Lady Sansa the letter?” he couldn’t help asking even though he knew the answer.

“Yes, my lord. She seemed very pleased.”

“Oh, do you think so?” Tyrion felt that he was glaring at the boy which was unfair. He was not sure of the reasons why he’s angry and bothered (his bloody wound itches so much as well) and he shouldn’t take it out on Podrick. “After supper, I want you to tell Shae to visit my chambers once she tucked Sansa Stark to bed.”

Podrick nodded and remained where he was as he waited for Tyrion to finish his cup so he could pour him another. It occurred to Tyrion that though Cersei may be winning this race, he would gladly settle for second especially with the pace and volume of his wine intake lately. Nothing would taste sweeter than this except for Shae’s mouth later tonight.

* * *

 

_My Lady Sansa,_

_Your happiness is the best news I received in weeks. It seemed only fair that the comfort you seek was found in Margaery Tyrell’s company. With no family in the city, it’s only natural for you to choose new ones and I think it was a wise decision on your part to trust our future queen. She definitely has the grace and restraint to share the throne with our beloved Joffrey, wouldn’t you agree? Now that you have her affections, it will most certainly make things easier for you. I’m sincerely relieved that she has decided to take you under her protection. The Tyrells have always been one of the most exemplary pacifists in Westeros and they always create alliances that are worth keeping, so I consider you in safe hands. Keep them close to you, my lady._

_As for your sister, I regret her grave situation and I will not give you false hope because I think it would be best if we expect the worst of outcomes since the country is at war and the dangers we face these days are darker than usual. However, I’m also torn with these events since I somewhat share your predicament. My brother Jaime is a captive of your brother’s camp as you are more than aware of, and I still believe that one day he will be returned to us safely. Forgive me for bringing up the unfortunate circumstances surrounding our families. I don’t need to remind you the roads our loved ones have taken when they decided to start this war. Sometimes it’s hard to believe we ever got this way. Life was simpler when Robert was king._

_And now we’re forced to accept the situations we did not choose ourselves and that I think is a war we must overcome first before anything else. I knew very well that you lived a sheltered life growing up, and perhaps that hasn’t prepared you for the things at stake at this moment, but let me say that you are doing remarkably well than anyone would expect. As for me, I’ve always been loathed by my own kin and strangers alike so it’s quite peculiar for me that you of all people could ever consider me as a friend. I am grateful for that chance, my lady, and my intentions remain as pure as the day I helped you to get away from our beloved king’s harsh judgment. I confess that it is still very new to me. No one has ever been as kind to me as you have. There was Jaime, of course, or rather, there used to be a Jaime in my life before I also lost him to a war I don’t want to fight at all. As for Cersei, I don’t think you should expect reconciliation between us. Some things are better left broken forever._

_Thank you for your prayers, my lady, and your letters have been helpful to me as well. It truly amazes me that we have now reached a point that we can tell things as freely in these exchanges than we do when we’re facing each other. I suppose we can only afford to tell lies in the presence of suspicious company. But at least we have these moments. I never had any good reasons to pray to the gods back then, but now you have given me one in the days to come. Stay safe, Sansa._

 

 

* * *

 

 While she was breaking fast, Sansa was visited by one of Margaery’s handmaids who informed her that Ser Loras would like to spend an afternoon with her in the castle gardens. She was understandably gleeful about the prospect of seeing the Knight of Flowers and she spent the morning choosing the perfect garment to wear. She tried not to appear too nervous even though she’s worried about what they could possibly talk about. It occurred to Sansa that Ser Loras might have known about their secret arrangement by this time. That means he wanted to determine for himself if she would make a proper wife. Sansa hadn’t felt this excited in a long while that it almost scared her. Could she ever believe that something beautiful could happen for her again? As far as experiences go, the opposite always seemed to come true. She pondered that for a while until she remembered Tyrion’s letter especially the part when he told her that he’s praying for her which gave her a funny feeling on her gut, considering he was also honest enough to admit that he doesn’t usually pray.

Sansa tried not to think about his letter (though she re-read it at least four times before she went to sleep last night and some of the phrases have stuck that she could almost hear his voice reciting them to her).

She thought about seeing him again one of these days. They haven’t had a proper conversation since he woke up from his battle injury. Sansa knew that she missed him, and that’s supposed to bother her. Why would she miss someone she should hate alongside Joffrey and Cersei? But it was always a different case with Tyrion. He meant something else to her and perhaps Margaery was right to say that he might even be someone special. Not fully understanding the weight of her feelings for him at this time, Sansa wasn’t sure how to react to it except with embarrassment. Each time she thought about Tyrion, warmth would spread across her chest. Sometimes she would even find herself contemplating about what he’s doing at that precise day and if he’s thinking about her too. Sansa doesn’t understand why she’s fixating on him which is what she’s doing again right now.

Shaking thoughts of Tyrion Lannister away, Sansa eagerly walked around the castle gardens to meet her future husband. Just saying that in her head sounded like a melody she would like to keep hearing. Sansa had always wanted a dashing knight to be her savior. Ser Loras could be the man she’d been waiting for all this time.

The Knight of Flowers was sitting on the edge of the fountain. His serene stance was mesmerizing. Sansa barely uttered a sound as she approached. The moment their eyes locked, Ser Loras stood up and his smile resembled Margaery’s which only made Sansa’s heart flutter. She shyly offered her hand for him to kiss and he took it gently and pressed it against those perfect lips.

“Thank you for seeing me, Lady Stark,” Ser Loras spoke as he offered for her to sit by his side. Once they were both settled in, he looked into her eyes and said. “I trust that all is well with you, and that you’ve been treated better now?”

Sansa nodded, smiling back. “Yes, my lord.”

Ser Loras paused. And then with another gentle touch, he placed a hand on her arm. Sansa wasn’t sure how to react since she was too captivated by his gaze on hers. But then she felt him pulling back the sleeve as he asked. “May I...?”

Sansa wondered what he was trying to do until she realized that he was now looking keenly at the scars on her wrist. She jerked back from his touch without thinking. She rolled the sleeve down and apologized.

“No, my lady, I didn’t mean to be so intrusive,” Ser Loras interjected. “It’s just...” he frowned. “I was informed about your maltreatment. We all worry about you.” He looked at her some more and added. “With Margaery’s blessing as the new queen, she will have us wed and he will never lay a hand on you ever again.”

Sansa didn’t know what she should say. She wanted to show her gratitude but the words wouldn’t be enough. She felt her eyes water so she looked slightly away and replied. “You and your family have done so much for me.”

Ser Loras placed his hand under her chin so she could look at him. “You are so beautiful, Lady Stark. A beauty like yours shouldn’t be hidden away here in this place. Once you’re my wife, we can ride back to Highgarden.” He smiled wider now. “Oh, you’re going to fit in perfectly there. I know you’re from the North and you’re used to the cold but Highgarden is where the sun rises the best. The horizon is always so bright and all the flowers of every kind blossom to their fullest. They never hide their beauty from where I come from, and neither should you.” He placed both hands on top of hers and squeezed.

“Your words move me so deeply, Ser.” Sansa blushed and smiled at him. “And I can’t wait to see Highgarden myself.” She looked at their hands still pressed together and felt instant glee take over her. She had never been this close to a man before—touching like this—not since the Hound...

_...or when Tyrion and I almost kissed._

She slowly withdrew her hands and asked. “Is there any particular reason why we’re meeting here, Ser?”

He chuckled. “I merely want to look at my betrothed.”

“Oh,” she bit her lower lip and looked away again.

“Have you thought about your dress, my lady?”

“My dress?” Sansa cocked her head to the side.

“For Margaery’s wedding to Joffrey.”

“The queen regent will decide on what I have to wear,” Sansa answered.

“She’ll probably put you in something red again,” Ser Loras looked at her state of dress and added. “Or this kind of garish, faded material.”

Sansa opened her eyes to say something but then he laughed and said. “I wasn’t calling you ugly, my lady. I just thinkthat  the queen regent tries so hard to suppress your beauty. And why wouldn’t she? If you wear the right color that would enhance that hair so kissed by fire and your blue eyes, then the next time you stand next to her, she might look like the Crone herself.”

Sansa tried not to laugh but failed. She let out a quiet giggle which she quickly regretted. But Ser Loras was grinning and enjoying himself far too much with that disrespectful comment and she found herself not really caring who hears them. She watched him closely this time as he looked across the garden, probably lost in his own thoughts. He was just breathtaking. His curly brown hair is the same shade as Margaery’s and he had the most delicate cheekbones she had ever seen in a man. She examined his features as discreetly as she could but the more she noticed his perfection, the more she thought about the burnt marks on half of the Hound’s face, and the battle scar on Tyrion’s nose. It only made her feel sad. Sansa couldn’t understand why she’s even thinking about those men when she’s in the presence of her dashing knight who will marry her and take her away from all the terrors of this place. She rejected the Hound that night and now he’s gone. What matters at this moment is Ser Loras Tyrell, her Knight of Flowers.

 _I will leave King’s Landing soon_ , she thought to herself happily. _But that means I need to say my goodbyes...to Tyrion._ She didn’t know why that dampened her mood all of a sudden. Could it be that he was the anchor that’s keeping her here?

_Yes, he is. It’s because I care about him._

But he’s a Lannister.

“My lady?” Ser Loras interrupted her musings. “Shall we take a walk?”

Sansa accepted his hand and together they stood up and began to take a stroll across the garden. Ser Loras talked about the tourneys he’d been a part of as they walked which Sansa eagerly listened to but once in a while her thoughts would lead her astray and she’ll be thinking about Tyrion again, wondering what he would say when he finds out that she’s getting married to a Tyrell, and that she’s moving away. _Will he be happy for me? Will he visit me in Highgarden? Should I extend an invitation?_ _But why would I do that?_ Sansa couldn’t understand why he’s infesting her thoughts like this. _Do I still want him to be a part of my life even if I’m to belong to someone else?_ Sansa wasn’t listening to Ser Loras anymore.

_We could be friends out in the open once the Tyrells and the Lannisters are allies. That means we could spend time together again._

Something is not right, though. Why does that possibility make her feel...dizzy and warm inside, and in ways that she shouldn’t experience at all for a man who’s supposed to be just her friend? This is all too confusing so Sansa set her thoughts away and focused on her husband-to-be. Getting as far away from Joffrey and Cersei is all that she should dwell on. Creating her happy ending is what should matter.

 

* * *

 

Tywin Lannister was still writing from the moment Tyrion entered his chambers and until he took a seat across him. It was always the same song with him. The game had never changed between them at all. But this time Tyrion kept his mouth shut and waited as patiently as he could. His father summoned him for something important after all and he knew that the old man is going to make him wait for it. And Tyrion will give him the satisfaction. He was far too exhausted and preoccupied with other thoughts to give a fuck about this situation. He had nothing on his plate anyway. He made love to Shae last night which was enough to get him through today. He was drunk again which numbed any lingering bitterness he may have from their last conversation days ago.

And he sneaked into the Godswood last night with Bronn to say his prayers which was awkward (and funny for Bronn, apparently) because he had no idea how to pray to a stump of a tree but it was a Northern god that the Starks worship and he found it only fitting that he paid his respect on her behalf. Now as he sat in silence across his father, it allowed him to think about his actions more critically. He knew he cared about the Stark girl but praying to her gods was the kind of gesture he did not expect he would be capable of. He hated all the gods, old or new, so why did he even attempt to connect with them last night? Is it because he felt guilty every time she kept saying that he’s included in her prayers? Was he going to let her know in his next letter that he prayed to a weirwood tree for her? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

Tyrion adjusted himself in the chair and wished he had a goblet right now so he could just drink away his ramblings and shut off his thoughts of the Stark girl which were starting to overcrowd his mind lately. Maybe he should stop writing to her. Maybe he should keep his distance. _But I want to see her,_ Tyrion admitted. _And we’re friends now. I don’t need a reason to see her if I want to. Missing her is a good enough reason._ He paused. Tyrion looked at his father and wished they’ll start speaking soon so he could stop thinking about Sansa so much.

He’s thinking about her again and wine may not even help him anymore.

“So,” Tywin spoke up at last. Tyrion almost rejoiced aloud.

“So,” Tyrion answered back as he tapped his fingertips lightly on the table.

Tywin held his gaze for an uncomfortable few seconds before he spoke up again. “It has come to my attention that the Tyrells are plotting to marry Sansa Stark to Ser Loras.” He paused and then asked. “Isn’t that an interesting development?”

Tyrion tried not to sigh. Are they going to talk about her some more? He’d rather prefer they don’t. “Very well,” he curtly replied. “She’s a lovely girl.”

When his father said nothing, Tyrion felt the need to babble. “Missing some of Loras’ favorite bits but I’m sure they’ll make do...”

“Your jokes are not appreciated.”

“It wasn’t my best but...”

“I bring them into the royal fold and this is how they repay me,” Tywin certainly looked displeased, “by trying to steal the key to the North from under me.”

 _Oh, that’s what this is about._ Tyrion shifted from his seat. “Sansa is the key to the North?” _Does that mean he plots to finish Robb Stark once and for all?_

As if reading his mind, Tywin replied. “The Karstarks have marched home. The young wolf has lost his army. His days are numbered. Now Theon Grejyoy murdered both his brothers. That makes Sansa Stark the heir to Winterfell.”

“And you are not about to hand her over to the Tyrells,” Tyrion finished his father’s litany under his breath which Tywin didn’t seem to mind. He was right. Feeling the need to end this discussion quickly, Tyrion interjected his own side of things. “The Tyrell army is helping us win this war. Do you really think it’s wise to refuse them?” _Sansa would be happier in Highgarden. She never belonged here._

“There’s nothing to refuse since this is a plot, and plots are not public knowledge.” Tywin retorted. “And the Tyrells won’t carry this one out until after Joffrey’s wedding.” There’s a glint in his father’s eyes that Tyrion recognized instantly. “We need to act first and kill this union in its crib.”

Tyrion knew what was coming so he didn’t have to ask.

“She requires a new husband.” Tywin announced to no one in the room.

“Wonderful.”

Tywin almost smirked. “Isn’t it just?”

They stared at each other for a while until it dawned to Tyrion the real reason his father summoned him for this news. Disbelieving, he muttered. “You can’t.”

“I can.”

His anger was back. Tyrion leaned closer from his seat and looked at his father straight in the eye. “Joffrey has made this poor girl’s life miserable since the day he took her father’s head. Now she’s finally free of him and you give him to me?” No, he didn't want Sansa for himself and especially not like this. He thought about her smile which he had only glimpsed once so long ago. “Father,” Tyrion added. “That’s cruel...” he paused and looked down on his hand on the table, “even for you.”

_She deserves a knight—handsome, noble and tall. She doesn’t deserve me._

His father looked amused. “Do you intend on mistreating her?”

Tyrion would not dare dignify that with an answer.

“The girl’s happiness is not my concern nor should it be yours.”

“She’s been through enough!” Tyrion raised his voice which surprised the both of them. Now Tywin was no longer amused.

“She’s not a child you need to shelter,” his father shot back. “She flowered. From what I can gather, your sister discussed that with her in length. So you will wed her, bed her and put a child in her. Surely even you are capable of that.”

Tyrion couldn’t even speak. He had lost the words or the means to communicate how much this has enraged him. Every conversation they have had in the last few years never failed to make Tyrion’s blood boil as it did now. He leaned back against his chair and answered. “And if I refuse?”

Tywin chuckled grimly, maintaining his nonchalant pose the whole time. “You said you wanted to be rewarded for your valor in battle. Sansa Stark is a finer reward than you could ever dare hope for. And it is past time you were wed.”

“I was wed,” Each syllable hurt his teeth."Or have you forgotten?"

 “Oh, I remember,” Tywin glared at him now. “Only too well.”

Tyrion balled his hand into a fist and looked to the side.

“You will do your bid while your sister marries Ser Loras in exchange.”

“She will?” That earned a laugh from Tyrion.

“And she will obey because she knows her place as my daughter.”

But not even Cersei’s misery could lessen his own. Tyrion couldn’t stand to look at him anymore or he might just say something he can’t take back, so he pushed himself off the chair. “May I leave, father dearest?”

But Tywin was already writing in a new parchment. Tyrion got out of the chambers without ever looking back.

 

* * *

 

There wasn’t enough wine in the world to lessen Tyrion’s repugnance upon gazing at his abhorrent sister’s face the moment he stormed out of the door. He realized that her expression was also celebratory and that only made it worse.

_She knew. Father told her first._

“You should be thanking the gods for this,” his sweet sister almost purred. “This is more than you deserve.”

Tyrion smiled now. _She doesn’t know the other thing though._

“What is that look?” Cersei asked suspiciously.

“You are to marry the Knight of Flowers.”

For a while it almost seemed like Cersei had a heart attack. “I will not.”

“Well,” Tyrion tried to enjoy this. “The boy is heir to Highgarden. Father plans for me to secure the North while you secure the Reach. And are we not dutiful, sister? Are we not the great Tywin Lannister’s pride and joy?”

“I won’t do it!” Cersei looked like she was going to cry which should make Tyrion rejoice inside but he still felt sorry for her even after everything.

So he mocked her. “You’re still fertile. You need to marry again and breed.”

And that’s when she slapped him. He took a step back so she won’t do it again. The sting on his cheek felt great though. He needed that.

“I am Queen Regent, not some broodmare!” With that, she pushed the doors open to Tywin’s chambers. Tyrion didn’t stay to hear their argument and he rushed to find Sansa in her chambers but she wasn’t there. He couldn’t find Shae either.

_Whatever happens, she needs to hear it from me first._

 

* * *

 

For the first time since she left Winterfell to travel to King’s Landing, Sansa began to daydream by herself again. She was still in the garden, humming the song she composed for Ser Dunk. The roses around her have the deepest and loveliest shade of red she had ever seen and everything else looked almost brand new.

“You’re not supposed to be wandering around my castle like an idiot child.”

That voice. Sansa slowly turned to meet the king’s eyes. Joffrey stood there with his arms crossed and a grin on his face. He crooked his finger, urging her to come close to him which she had no choice but to obey.

He grabbed her arm and pressed his lips against her. She squirmed and pulled away. “Your Grace, you are betrothed to the lady Margaery—”

“And you’re going to tell her?” Joffrey cupped one of her breasts and gave it a squeeze. “You’re going to tell my bride-to-be and your new best friend that you seduced me here in the garden and...” he whispered into her ear, “that I pushed you to the grass and we fucked over and over and over...”

“Please, Your Grace.” Sansa shut her eyes and did not dare to push him off.

“Shhh,” Joffrey kissed her cheek now. “I was jesting, my beautiful dove. You and I are family now.” He run his fingers through her hair and smiled almost kindly.

“What do you mean by that, Your Grace?” she dreaded to hear his reply.

“My uncle,” he answered. “He will wed and bed you.”

Sansa stared blankly at him for a moment. She wanted to speak but something impaired her speech and she just kept staring at him.

“The Imp has slept with a thousand whores before so he will do his duty well, I hope,” Joffrey sneered. “If he doesn’t, well, I’m always here.” He placed his palm on her stomach. “You wouldn’t care, would you? As long as it’s a lion that mates with you? You’ve always wanted little blond children popping out of you since I met you, right?” He chuckled into her ear. “Any Lannister would be up for the task to bed the last maiden wolf.” He nibbled on her ear. “And our family always shares.”

 

* * *

 

It took him a few minutes but Tyrion finally found Sansa Stark in the Godswood. It was the last place of sanctuary for her.

He was so afraid to come close. It had been weeks since they talked and it’s just not fair that the first conversation they’ll have since then would be about something so horrible. If the Tyrells intended to marry her to Ser Loras then she might have been privy to that arrangement. She must have been happy about it too which explained her letter. She adored Margaery after all, and Ser Loras was everything her young, hopeful heart longed for and he’s about to take that all away from her. Bydoing so, he’s going to lose her too. He took a few steps closer while dreading what’s to come.

“Sansa?” Tyrion couldn’t feel his mouth.

When she lifted her head up and saw him, it was clear that she knew already. Her eyes were red and glistened with tears. Tyrion froze. His legs felt weak and he couldn’t move an inch. “Please...” he tried to reach out but the rage in those eyes stopped him. For a moment it looks like she even wanted to hit him.

 _She hates me._ He wanted to hide from her. _She really, really does._

She gathered her gown and stood up. When she tried to speak, she could only whimper in vain as the tears keep coming. Tyrion tried to soothe her but he couldn’t. He doesn’t know what he could possibly tell her now that it wouldn’t change anything. He had to try though. He owed her that much.

But Sansa was speaking now in a tone that betrayed her pain and punctured him in the chest. “Sometimes we have to accept situations we did not choose...” she almost spat out the words. “You said that. You knew. This was always the plan. You’ve always known!” She was stepping back away from him as if he held a sword in his hand and he was going to stab her with it. He might as well have already.

“Sansa, I didn’t—”

“Monster,” Sansa whispered. “You’re just like Joffrey.”

 _No_ , Tyrion still couldn’t move. _No, Sansa, I love you—_

When he heard himself say that in his head, it almost made him want to cry.

He could hear it loudly now and it was the harshest sound. Tyrion bit his tongue, not wanting to blurt it out. _I may marry you but I won’t ever have you and now you’re going to hate me for the rest of our lives._

 

* * *

 

Sansa steadied her hand although she wanted nothing more than to hit him many times the way Joffrey’s knights had done to her before. She wanted Tyrion Lannister to feel each blow that struck her face and body then, so he will understand and feel for himself the magnitude of his betrayal and deceit. Sansa thought that no pain could be greater than what she had gone through when she witnessed her father’s head chopped off and displayed on the castle walls. She thought her despair could no longer deepen after the variety of horrid ways Joffrey has made her grieve and suffer on a daily basis. The king lied and destroyed her life as the queen regent watched and manipulated her from the shadows.

But in spite of their cruelty, Sansa was now ready to believe that Tyrion Lannister had hurt her the most and it’s because he made her believe and dream again; he uplifted her spirit and made it soar and for the first time since she left Winterfell, Sansa felt like she had a place to call home once more because his friendship promised her safety and it gave her a clarity that strengthened her hope. But then he snatched it all away, leaving her heart bloody and broke in a way it might never be repaired.

Sansa turned away from him so he would not get the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Before he could even try to grab hold of her, she pulled up her skirts and ran.

She now hated the Lannisters more than she could handle, and detested Tyrion the worst. He reached out to her only to claw his way into her chest where her heart is already tucked away and she gave him the opportunity to clutch and squeeze the life out of it. She will never forgive him. He was never her friend and yet she trusted him so much and therein lies the ultimate mistake. How many times did Sansa have to fall and wound herself before she learns that all Lannisters are motivated by greed alone and will only repay everything with blood?

 _I wanted love,_ Sansa blinked away the tears as she climbed up the stairs leading to her chambers. She pushed the door open and went to her desk to retrieve the letter she wrote for that monster. Without a second thought, she ripped the parchment apart the same way he tore her heart to pieces.

She crashed into the bed afterwards, and buried her face on the pillow.

 _All I ever wanted_ _was to be loved. And I thought that I was..._ Sansa forced the wicked thought away but she’s already thinking it with a dangerously clear perspective. _I even thought that I was in love with him!_

She couldn’t believe she just admitted that to herself but it’s what she feels and it was horrible and repugnant but it wasn’t going away.

 _And I really thought he loves me too! Why in the gods would I ever love a Lannister? Why did I allow it? And he was lying to me all this time! All those promises he made—all the kindness he showed—they were all lies! He was only using me just like everyone else!_ Sansa balled her hands into fists and began punching the pillow.

_I can’t love him. Stop being in love with a monster, Sansa!_

 “Stupid girl!” she half-screamed into the pillow and then she bit it down. _Stupid, reckless and doesn’t learn. He is a Lannister and he was never your friend. You are doomed, Sansa Stark. You will die on the snowy cliff and there is no warlock to grant you wings or a brave Ser Dunk to rescue you._

 “I’m doomed to marry into a family of murderers,” she whimpered softly to herself and the truth was almost enough to kill her while she wept. And now her chances of escape from this narrowing cage had slipped within her grasp. But the most hateful thing about all of this is that she loved him. She really, really did.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“I don’t want you to change for all the hurt that you feel. The world is just an illusion, trying to change you."_


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is a tempered steel and discovers she can also be sharp and cruel, as Tyrion is once again the laughingstock of his family and reveals to Sansa exactly how he feels about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the breaking point of their relationship. Take heed.

* * *

 

**Fire and blood**

 

* * *

 

 

Two days had passed since their quandary in the Godswood, and Sansa had done everything in her power to avoid Tyrion Lannister around Red Keep at all cost, even if this would mean dining with the king and queen regent for the nights to come. It was only fortunate that Margaery, Lady Olenna and Ser Loras attended the meals and this ensured that Joffrey would conduct himself as gallantly as possible in the presence of his bride-to-be and the queen of thorns herself.

The Tyrells were gracious and diplomatic during these meals and no one at the table mentioned Sansa's new engagement, not even when Joffrey would often look across Sansa to smirk at her. On the first night, Cersei herself engaged in the conversations among Margaery, Ser Loras, and her grandmother, usually about ongoing battles and future plans regarding their families' alliance. As expected, Margaery was perfect during such talks, always so glibly charming and full of light. It was a completely disturbing sight for Sansa whenever Joffrey would respond back with an uncharacterized warmth and tenderness. It was clear that he was becoming rather fond of Margaery himself which only made sense to Sansa when he spoke of her own frigidity towards him as his former betrothed during the conversation tonight.

Margaery just smiled, neither agreeing or disagreeing with the observation. "The lady Sansa seems timid from what I can discern. Perhaps Your Grace merely perceived her shyness as a lack of warmth. Your Grace expects more from people around him which you should, of course. But your masterly presence can be intimidating and fearsome to frail girls like Sansa Stark," she shot Sansa a look as a dismissive way of acknowledging her but Sansa knew Margaery's ways and did not take offense. Margaery then glanced back intently at the king, beaming.

Joffrey, to Sansa's shock, smiled back without any trace of his usual dour countenance. "I have considered that. She's obviously afraid of me. After all, I did have her father executed before her eyes," he stated that without any hint of embarrassment or concern for how it would sound which made Sansa dig her fingers into her lap as she sat there and maintained her courtesy. Without missing a beat, Joffrey added. "The traitorous Ned Stark got what he deserved but it's only natural for a foolish girl like his daughter to feel like I'm an enemy who only wants to take away everything she holds dear." He sipped his goblet and went on. "And that is not my desire." He looked at Margaery and softly muttered. "I'm not a cruel tyrant despite all accusations. I only wanted to keep the lady Sansa safe and well-cared of. But she's pushing me away at every turn, as if her father's treachery is my own fault."

 _Liar, liar, liar,_  Sansa's head was about to explode. Now she knew exactly how Arya felt before when Joffrey made up that story about her friend, the butcher's boy.

"I'm sure she's learning to come around," Margaery smiled at Sansa this time as if to pity her but something in her eyes said otherwise and Sansa knew this was all for show and that she was on her side.  _Margaery is the closest thing I have to a family now,_  she thought to herself. That said, would she really trust her that much? Sansa was not a foolish girl dreaming of…"shitty" (as Cersei once put it) little fairy tales anymore. She had been hardened by countless experiences of betrayal. And just quite recently someone she treated like family had forsaken her. Sansa closed her eyes for a while to shake the thoughts of the Imp away, and then she opened them again with more clarity.

Margaery added. "I'm sure now she wants to be your friend."

"Is that what you want, Sansa, my sweet?" Joffrey was looking at her now. "Do you want my friendship?"

Sansa tried not to answer too quickly. "Yes, Your Grace, more than anything."

For a while Joffrey watched her carefully. Beside him, his own mother shared his scrutiny as well. But then the king broke into a grin which resembled something human for once, and reminded Sansa of the boy he used to be back when he visited Winterfell; how he sneaked glances at her and blushed whenever she caught his gaze.

 _He was never my prince charming,_  she said as she smiled back at him from across the dinner table, trying to emulate Margaery's charm.  _He's a monster who devours sheep and doesn't even blink in the wake of atrocities in his path._

"Very well," Joffrey raised his goblet and everyone followed suit. "Here's to a new beginning among Lannisters, Tyrells and the beautiful wolf maiden who was once a Stark," he nodded at her and then added, "and now the future aunt-in-law of this humbled king sitting among you. To Sansa, soon to be of Lannister breed!"

With that joyful announcement, everyone took a sip of their wine. The bittersweet taste of it in her mouth was poison, but Sansa gulped it down anyway.

 

* * *

 

Two nights have come and gone and still all she could think about is the vile Imp. Tyrion Lannister, her benefactor who had been a foe all along.

…and someone she loved.

Her wounds continue to deepen knowing that her revulsion for him was only just the mantle, and at the very core of that violent emotion was all the pain and rejection she suffered at the moment. Her hatred of him, though strong and persistent, was not the worst part of her problems right now. It was the feelings of wanton affection and crushing disappointment that lingered in the surface.

Though aware that she was no idiotic child now for she had bled in more ways than one, Sansa still loved Tyrion and it was painful to face that truth now because she never meant to love him in the first place. She didn't want to know if it was anything akin to romantic because every bone in her body refused to believe it anyway. But she cared about him, feared for his safety and prayed for his health and good fortune. She did so not with the complete disregard of the repercussions as she once had when she foolishly allowed Joffrey to corrupt her before, but with the temperance of a woman flowered, trusting that he was genuine about his intentions to help her.

It was a risk to believe in him, she knew that all too well, yet she did anyway and it was surprisingly the easiest thing to do especially since he could say exactly the right words to comfort her in her darkest hours, and even invigorate her soul when she would have perished a long time ago. Sansa didn't want to think about the ways he saved her because those turned out to be mere schemes to gain her trust and exploit it to his means, as all Lannisters do.  _And now I'm paying those debts_.

A rat's nest, that's what King's Landing was, and Lord Baelish was right when he said that they were all liars here and are far better than her at that game.

 _But I never asked to play the game,_ Sansa let out a sigh as she sat at the edge of her bed, sifting through the scrolls for her arithmetic lessons. She was preoccupied with her lessons as usual and for a short while, the numbers and the music that the septas brought her seemed enough to make her forget that she was nursing broken wings.

Her door swung open and Shae entered. "The lady Margaery is here to see you."

Sansa abruptly stood up. "My lady, I did not expect your visit."

"I'm happy to surprise you always, sweet sister," Margaery approached her easily with arms outstretched and a ready kiss on the cheek.

"And for what purpose is this pleasant visit, my lady?" Sansa asked.

"Come walk with me in the gardens," Margaery offered her arm. "I would very much like to discuss some things with you there. I miss home a lot more than I would admit, and the gardens of Red Keep is where I seem to flourish better than in any other dark and bland rooms here at the castle." She chuckled slightly.

Sansa could not deny her escort, of course, so she smiled meekly and took Margaery's arm. Shae stayed behind them the entire time as they graced the gardens. Sansa felt herself wrapping her arm tightly around Margaery's which the older girl noticed quickly. "You seem rather apprehensive of something, Sansa."

"It doesn't matter," Sansa answered her truthfully.

"Clearly you are upset of the change of plans," Margaery remarked and before Sansa could respond, she added. "I share your dismay, my love, but we all have roles to play in the game, and yours hasn't been getting easier, I'm sure."

_I never asked to play._

"Regardless, we must do our duty." Margaery said, "I shall like to ease the transition for you. I know your heart was fully set on my brother but now you must leave behind those dreams and cast your eyes upon the horizons before you."

Sansa would have replied that she doesn't want to but Margaery always seemed to know what she's thinking since she was already explaining away. "Lannisters are wealthy and influential. Your future is secure in that sense. But you worry about becoming Lord Tyrion's wife. Granted he's not every maiden's idea of a dashing prince or knight but he's clever from what I heard." She paused. "Has he been kind to you?"

Sansa kept her eyes downcast, deciding whether honesty is the best thing for this conversation right now. Still, she decided to reply without giving away too much.

"He's tried."

Margaery smiled then. "Does it bother you that he's a dwarf?"

"No," Sansa then admitted. "And yes."

"Pray tell?"

"His stature does not concern me in a general sense but as my husband—" Sansa wasn't confident on how to phrase it but she went ahead. "If we are to wed and bed, will my children suffer his affliction as well?" The question was rhetorical and she didn't expect Margaery to have an answer _. I would love my children just the same_ , and this she knows for certain.  _I have no family left._

"We don't have that much control over our lives than we think." Margaery answered. "And all I can assure you is that though circumstances are not always in your favor, how you react to them and make the most of them is crucial. Actions shape destiny, no matter how little and restricted they are." She stopped to face Sansa and carefully brushed a strand of loose hair from her face. Her palm lingered on her cheek as she spoke softly. "Something tells me that you know this already and that your circumstances have yet to defeat you. So don't start losing hope now, my love."

"I'm afraid," Sansa managed to reply.

"Of many things, I believe." Margaery lowered her hand to her shoulder.

Sansa wanted to tell her everything but she couldn't find the words to phrase them well. She doesn't want to talk about things she hasn't even figured out yet no matter how illuminating Margaery's counsel may prove to be. When deeply confounded, Sansa has a habit of glancing at her handmaid Shae which she presently did now. Shae returned her gaze and made a quick nod. Seeing that as a good sign (Shae is also one of the few people who have learned to read Sansa and see through her armor), Sansa turned back to Margaery. "I would kindly ask for your advice, my lady, if it wouldn't be an inconvenience."

"Nonsense," Margaery chuckled and squeezed her hands. "We're sisters, you and I." She then glanced at Shae and said. "Can you excuse us?"

Sansa nodded her own approval and Shae left quietly. Before they could begin discussing delicate matters, Sansa started walking again with Margaery patiently waiting alongside her. Gathering enough courage, Sansa turned to her and said in a hushed tone. "I must confess that it is the bedding that worries me most of all."

She expected Margaery to laugh but ever gracious, the older girl kept her face neutral and replied. "You don't need to overthink anything. The man does the job half the time especially on your first bedding."

Sansa remembered her conversation with Shae from the past about the Hound and she wondered if she should also disclose that. Margaery had been nothing but accommodating and though Sansa regretted trusting Tyrion Lannister with some of her private thoughts and secret hopes, it shouldn't mean that she couldn't trust possible allies anymore. What she needs to do is get better at discerning whom to place trust on. Something in her gut tells her that Margaery might be different this time. She hoped she truly is. If not, what else could she lose?  _Nothing could be worse than being married to a family of liars and monsters._

"I had a slight indiscretion from before regarding the matter," Sansa wondered if she said that right but the words which already felt wrong as soon as she uttered them.

"An indiscretion?" Now that seemed to shock the older girl.

"A slight one," Sansa interjected as she felt her cheeks color.

Margaery waited for her to elaborate so Sansa explained. "The night of the battle at BlackwaterBay, the Hound has forsaken his post. But before he left King's Landing, he broke into my room. He had always been…difficult. But I've come to understand why he's angry all the time. I suppose he came to seek my help that night. He has never done anything to hurt me himself, unlike Joffrey's other knights. Sometimes I felt like he cared about me beyond what is required from the king's dog…" Sansa trailed off. She stopped walking and tried to expound further. "I wouldn't characterize that we had any relationship but it's far too complicated to say for sure that we didn't." She paused again to choose her next words. "When he came to my room that night, he was scared of the fire. The Hound was badly burnt as a child and the wildfire must have brought back his bad memories. He wanted me to comfort him but I could tell he would not ask me directly. I tried to help…"

"What did he do?" Margaery asked, her voice firm.

"He kissed me." Sansa simply answered.

Margaery nodded all of a sudden as if she had already made sense of it. "And you didn't fight him, did you?"

Sansa bit her lower lip.

"Was that all?"

"He pushed me to the bed and…I let him. I don't know why I did but I was scared of what he might do if I shove him away."  _Liar. You didn't push him at first because it felt good to feel a man hold you like that as if you're the only woman that ever mattered._  But she couldn't possibly tell Margaery that. It would be inappropriate.

"What happened next?"

"He tried to…" Sansa couldn't continue without feeling ashamed.

"So you're not…?"

"Oh, no, I am!" Sansa immediately answered. "By then, I already put a stop to it before it could go further. He didn't force himself upon me anymore and he left."

Margaery watched her for a while with an expression she couldn't understand. She seemed mildly amused. And then the older girl finally said. "You've felt things that simultaneously disgusted and aroused you. That's what happened with the Hound that night. And it's utterly normal, dear." She smiled now. "Men are said to crave and lust after their objects of affection but so do women."

Sansa could only keep her mouth shut and blush furiously. She knew that Shae was right when she said that Sansa should discuss such things with another woman just to be prepared when the time of bedding comes, but this was still awkward and embarrassing. Besides, Sansa thought that it would be with her mother that she would disclose such matters. Thinking about Lady Catelyn again only made her sad.

"Sansa, my love!" Margaery chuckled when she saw the look on her face. "There's nothing to be terrified or ashamed of! We all have desires in that aspect and the more you accept that, the easier it would be for you to enjoy all the pleasures bedding would bring you." She started walking again with Sansa beside her, still silent.

"How can you be sure, though?" Sansa finally started talking again. "I've heard you were unable to consummate your marriage with Lord Renly."

Margaery gave her another look of amusement. "There are other ways to enjoy the bedding that does not include the actual act of consummation."

Sansa doesn't know how to respond.

"I do not mean to be indelicate but you may also pleasure your husband with your hands, your mouth…" she lowered her tone by the last bit but then she couldn't help but chuckle again when Sansa turned away suddenly to hide her blush.

"Surely you are at least familiar with something other than the knowledge of penetration." Margaery could not disguise her surprise.

A memory made its way into Sansa's mind but she did not dare retrieve it, in fear of how it might start to affect her. But Margaery always knows when she wanted to conceal something so she reached out and pressed her to share.

Giving in, Sansa stopped walking and told her. "Months ago before Blackwater, I…saw something." She sighed before she went on. "I was walking back to my chambers when I saw Lord Tyrion standing against a wall. There was a woman. She was kneeling…" she covered her face with her hands and dreaded to go on.

"Oh," Margaery seemed to understand which was good. "Did you watch?"

"No!" Sansa tore her hands from her face abruptly and almost raised her voice. "My lady, I don't think we should—"

"What did you think about what you saw?" Margaery was very calm.

"I don't know."

"Were you disgusted? Curious? Did you get arouse yourself?"

"Lady Margaery, please!" Sansa wanted to run as Margaery just kept smiling.

"I'm trying to help you, my love." Margaery assured her. "Please don't hold back from me. You are a woman now and you need to understand your needs when it comes to such matters. And Lord Tyrion will be your husband and as such you shall do your duty and learn to keep him happy. So I see no reason why this would be inappropriate." Margaery paused to gauge Sansa's reaction. Seeing as the other girl will still keep silent, she went on. "So you saw your groom-to-be being serviced by another woman. You saw her sucking him with her mouth and you don't know how to begin dealing with that. And that's why you came to me. A wise decision."

Sansa had already closed her eyes as soon as Margaery described in a straightforward manner what Sansa saw. The words sounded painful to her ears. But Margaery is right. She's a woman now. She should not shy away from this kind of talk. She must do her duty. And isn't she always dutiful? Why should this be different now?

_Because it's Tyrion. And you have feelings for him._

She tried to stop those thoughts from leaking some more but they persisted and hovered on her head.  _You want him to want you._

"I'm sorry for being rude, my lady." Sansa apologized, ignoring the voice at the back of her mind. "I do believe that it is time for me to learn my place especially once I am wed to him. I would be most grateful for any help you could offer."

With that said, Margaery looked very pleased. The corners of her mouth twitched, threatening to form a fully wide grin. Sansa almost feared it. The older girl grabbed her hand and they seated themselves near the small fountain where Ser Loras once made Sansa laugh. Upon sitting, Margaery leaned closer to Sansa and said. "The bedding is a very delicate process. Though procreation is the goal for any marriage, it's not as final or duty-bound as that. You and your husband become one flesh in a lot of ways and it starts with an intimate physical union when you accept him inside you and surrender your will to him." Her eyes glistened strangely under the glare of the sun. They hypnotized Sansa. Margaery went on. "It sounds like women have no power once that union transpires but do not forget that the passage belongs to us. The passage," she glanced down at Sansa's lap and the younger girl colored deeply, "brings not only pleasure but life. Its sanctity is often taken for granted but it's where all things take root and proceed…" she placed a hand on Sansa's stomach, "to grow. And that's where ultimately the power lies for us." She smiled serenely. "And we should wield it wisely and with utmost understanding. What enters us is immediately harnessed and is then brought forth in the world and though proverbially the cord is cut, its connection remains." She paused and then asked. "Am I making sense to you?"

"Yes," Sansa replied. "You speak of birth and children."

"I also speak of a future we create with a man's seed." Margaery added. "But we are the gardeners who truly understand the promises of a fertile earth. Many things could blossom from a union of flesh. Heightened emotions and connections to otherworldly sensations happen in each union and women feel it more whether or not a child becomes possible. Even if you don't get pregnant, a lingering presence still envelopes you from within until it reaches your heart," Margaery placed her palm on Sansa's chest this time, pressing on it tenderly. "Now a woman can block it. That's how whores do it. Now a woman can allow multiple men into her passage but not everyone could journey on to her heart. She decides if a man reaches that destination or not."

Sansa listened very carefully, hanging on to each word as she felt her chest constrict as if her heart was asking her to pay attention and to hear its every beat.

"You can fuck or make love," Margaery's voice cut through her consciousness with a merciless precision. "You have that freedom but understand that both have consequences. And that both have its own burdens and joys." She paused. "What would you want to do with Lord Tyrion on your wedding night then?"

Completely reeled in now, Sansa answered with a certainty and honesty that she hasn't experienced in years. "I want to fuck him." The words were sharp and harsh that the wounds in her heart ached once spoken,  _for_   _I have no love left to make with him._

Margaery's eyes darkened but her smile was perfect. "Then I will show you how."

 

* * *

 

Ever the insolent rogue, Bronn grabbed the bottle of wine from the table and poured the last of its contents before Tyrion could.

Tyrion almost wanted to throw his own goblet at the sellsword-turned-City Watch commander. "You," he remarked instead, "are a cunt."

This earned a chuckle. "Speaking of which, when's the last time you tasted one?"

That actually made Tyrion think for a while. Shae has understandably avoided him since the news of his engagement to Sansa Stark became public.

 _Sansa Stark,_  he thought grimly,  _my last hope for family._

 _…_ and whom he was in love with in spite of himself.

"I never formally congratulated you—"

"Since when were you ever formal—"

"—for the nuptials you're facing—"

"—you shitty, black-hearted—"

"—and handling poorly, I may add."

"—fiend of mine."

"Fiend of mine," Bronn grinned. "That's heartfelt."

"You are and always," Tyrion slurred slightly, "a shitty, black-hearted one."

They raised their goblets to the air and drank.

"So," Bronn wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Bedding Sansa Stark."

"So?" Tyrion curtly replied.

"Beautiful, young Sansa Stark whom you will soon have in your sheets."

"I feel like you're about to make a point but you're too stupid to do it."

"She's quite tall."

"Taller than me like everybody else, you mean."

"It could still work." Bronn looked far away as if he was imagining something. "Positions are nearly limited but you're a shrewd bastard. You can still make it fun."

"Make what fun?"

"Bedding Sansa Stark."

Tyrion slammed his goblet on the table and shouted for Podrick.

"She can always be on top. Shy girls often like that."

"That's a position that will give her the prime advantage of choking me."

"I thought you like that sort of thing."

Podrick came in with a new bottle of wine and Tyrion asked him to make sure that the entire goblet is filled. "I might just let her choke me," he remarked and then gulped down. Podrick was already pouring him the next cup. "I could contend myself with dying beneath a beautiful woman who deserves her revenge."

"With your cock lodged securely inside her as you take your final breath."

Tyrion glared at him through the haze of drunkenness. "You paint with words."

"You cared about the girl too much and look where that got you," Bronn remarked. "All you wanted was to protect her from your craven of a nephew and gorgeous sister that you forgot to protect her from yourself."

"Gorgeous?" Tyrion's pitch went high for a moment. "Please don't tell me you fancy my sister." He now felt like he could actually choke in his own bile.

"No, I won't tell you." Bronn said with a wink.

"Filthy," Tyrion finished his wine and then threw the goblet at him this time.

"Not as filthy as you," Bronn shot back, still smiling darkly. "You've always wanted to fuck Sansa Stark. And now you can."

"She's…a child."

"The wench has flowered." Bronn replied. "And it is her duty to spread her legs for you. And it is your duty to put a baby in her belly."

Tyrion is feeling sick with guilt that he cannot come up with another response to defend himself. But his head was screaming at him.  _You want her to want you back._

"This would be easier for you if you own up to it." Bronn nudged him with his foot. Tyrion kicked at it but missed. "Say that you want to fuck her."

"Fine," Fed up with his insolence and the truth in his statements, Tyrion almost shouted it. "I want to fuck her,"  _for_   _I could not love her any other way._

"See how freeing that was?" Bronn grinned again and then he stood up and placed the goblet back in Tyrion's hand. They looked at each other and that moment of clarity that passed between them almost blinded him.

"Now, I have to go back to my post," Bronn was walking away from Tyrion while he spoke. "But I might stop by at the Godswood to pray for you both."

Tyrion threw the goblet at him again but missed and it hit the door instead as Bronn opened it. The sellsword merely laughed it off and disappeared outside.

 

* * *

 

Sansa stood with a mastered calmness that held her feet in place as her handmaids dressed her in the most lavish gown woven in white and golden silks. She kept her eyes on the looking glass before her, at the woman revealed in its reflection.

The woman gave her a sad smile.

Sansa then turned her attention to the ragged doll beside it. Last night she spent about two hours knitting it a new dress which was blue and green, and placed it above her worn-out clothes as if it was an armor to protect the rest of its straw body. She recalled the first time she laid her eyes on that doll while it was inside a wooden box that her father offered as his sincerest apology for her direwolf's death. She thought it was rather childish to still own a doll at her age, but now it occurred to her that perhaps her father had only wanted to preserve her childhood then, and keeping the doll around reminded her that she could claim it back.

But tonight she has to put that aside and do her duty one last time.

 

* * *

 

 _Cersei has figured it out splendidly. Wine does numb away everything_.

Tyrion laughed silently to himself upon coming across such a delightful realization. His fits of giggle persisted even as Tywin walked toward him with his sternest expression of disappointment yet. Tyrion glanced beside him to say something to his wife but Sansa Stark was nowhere in sight. He shrugged it off and turned his eyes to his father who was standing there like a mighty presence, towering over him as usual.

"If you place that cup on your lips, it would be the last thing you will ever have in your mouth." Tywin's soft voice was thunderous and dark with fulfilling that threat.

 _What does he want now?_  Tyrion only smiled back.  _Does he want me to formally apologize for my birth? For the murder of his Joanna, the love of his life?_

"Put the goblet down."

Tyrion pouted at him but obeyed.

"You have always been contemptuous and reckless but I never took you for ungrateful until now," Tywin couldn't even look at him anymore. His eyes surveyed the rest of the room as he continued to speak. "If drinking yourself blind is your death wish, I would grant it under different circumstances. But you are a husband to the heir of Winterfell and you must give her a child first before you could kill yourself out of vanity like the cowardly creature that you are. Until then, you do not have my permission to die." As he took the goblet away, Tywin met his eyes and the moment of clarity between them would have made Tyrion weep if he still gave a shit.

His father scoffed one last time and walked off.

Tyrion closed his eyes and hummed himself to early sleep as he sat there all by himself on the table. Nothing mattered to him now. All he wanted now is for oblivion to take him away. But as he was close to slumber, he heard a voice that shook him back to reality. It was his nephew, the king. Joffrey the little shit. Tyrion forced himself to open his eyes and watch what was about to happen now.

Joffrey was holding Sansa Stark by the wrist, showing her off like she still belonged to him. "Come," he beckoned the men in the room. "Let's unravel the wolf maiden together, see what she has to offer for my dear uncle."

He unceremoniously ripped the upper part of Sansa's gown. The sound of tearing fabric definitely encouraged the other men to feast on her. Two of the Kingsguard tore themselves a piece and gleefully expressed their satisfaction as the crowd cheered along with them. When Joffrey placed his arms around Sansa from behind her and five more men stepped up and pulled at her gown until her shoulders were exposed, Tyrion immediately pushed himself off the chair and wobbled as he walked. His sight was failing him but he fought to take the next steps.

"Stop," he almost couldn't say the word. He tried again. "Stop that!"

No one seemed to hear him. There was another shriek of fabric being torn.

Two men had knives which they used to slice through the hem of her gown which exposed her legs underneath. Tyrion couldn't see Sansa's face but he felt her tears like that night when he held her during her nightmares and grief.

"STOP!" Tyrion stumbled into the crowd and pushed some people away until he reached Joffrey and Sansa. "She is no longer yours to torment!"

Even with his head still filled with wine and agony, he managed to push against Joffrey so he would let Sansa go. The boy king was not pleased.

"I'm just getting things started for you uncle since you are obviously too incompetent to do it." Joffrey took another step to grab Sansa but Tyrion was somehow able to take a knife from one of the men earlier and point it at this shit nephew.

"Then you'll be fucking your own bride from the grave!" he shouted.

No one dared to speak a word after that exchange. From the corner of his eye, Tyrion could see Tywin stand up from his chair.

"WHAT?" Joffrey was livid. "What did you just say to me?"

Unexpectedly, it was Cersei who came between them. "Do not take his poison words seriously. He's a drunkard failure, cursed by the gods. He has no power—" Joffrey cut her off by raising his hand and taking another step closer to Tyrion.

Tyrion still pointed the knife at him even though his grip was shaking.

"It is out of jealousy and weakness that he threatens you, Your Grace," Tywin spoke up in his normal tone but his voice carried across the room. "Look at him. He is an Imp who has no other fortunes aside from acquiring a wife who is beyond his worth. Do you blame him for trying to protect the only thing he has left?"

Joffrey looked across his grandfather angrily but the words have obviously calmed him down. He then sneered at Tyrion and shook his head. "Pitiful," he spat out the word and then turned his back away. For his part, Tyrion lowered the knife and threw it at the ground.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Tyrion forced out a laugh. He then stepped back and reached for Sansa's wrist. When he clasped his fingers around it, he began to lead her away from the mob. "My father is right. I am very envious of you since the day you were born. You are blessed with all the things I can never have. You are handsome, intelligent and godly. You are exactly what defines royal blood." He stumbled once or twice as he walked, speaking the words as if he had been rehearsing them all his life.

"Come, wife." Tyrion urged Sansa to keep walking even as he turned his back away from her. "It's time for us to consummate our love! It's going to take me a while to do my duty, however, for I am not as skilled as the rumors will have you believed."

He wobbled as he reached the nearest door.  _Just a few more steps and I'll be out of this hell_ , he told himself although he wasn't convinced. He waved a hand at Sansa even though he couldn't see her clearly anymore in the dim-lit halls.

 

* * *

 

Sansa had wrapped her arms around her body to keep the torn dress from completely falling away. She followed Tyrion as he shuffled through the halls as they reached the chambers. He fumbled at the door for a while before successfully opening it. He stepped aside and let her in first. "Sit by the bed," he commanded weakly.

She did just that and watched as he approached her. Once they were facing each other, Tyrion leaned in and pressed his lips against her. It was clumsy but forceful nonetheless. Sansa shut her eyes and kissed back. When she parted her lips slightly, Tyrion placed both his hands on her cheeks and claimed her mouth. She balled her hands into fists but kept them on her sides. The upper part of her torn dress freed her breasts and Tyrion cupped them. She tried not to wince or whimper.

They continue to kiss dispassionately as Tyrion leaned his entire weight on Sansa which then prompted her to lie on her back. Before she could prepare herself for where his touch would come for next, she realized that he had pulled away already and was just standing there, trying not to wobble as he did.

She sat back up and inquired him with a look.

"I can't," he said.

As she sat there observing him, all she could think about was how badly she ached to hit him over and over. But she didn't dare. Instead, she nodded at his response and knelt down and she reached for his breeches. She was already untying them when she heard him ask. "What are you doing?"

Sansa couldn't help but answer back, with more defiant impudence than she had planned. "What women usually do for you," Remembering Maegery’s instruction, she took a deep breath and then reached down to grab his cock—

—but Tyrion swiftly caught her wrist and yanked it back.

Sansa glared back at him and was surprised to see his eyes clearing up. The lucidity was instant and so frightening that Sansa almost wanted to cower away.

"What do you think you're doing now?" There was an edge to his voice.

"What is required," Sansa answered.

Tyrion deeply frowned and clutched her wrist tighter.

Something twisted gnawed inside her and she managed to say. "What you paid for." As soon as the words left her mouth, Tyrion let her go and stepped away. She has never seen him so angry before and it was a devastating sight. But it didn't faze her. In fact, it was a relief to finally get a glimpse of the darkness inside him.

Quietly, he said. "You are not my whore."

Sansa would have laughed at that if only she wasn't already tearing up. She pulled her gown to reveal more of her flesh. The air stung her but she didn't care.

"Open your eyes, my lord. I'm the traitor's daughter. I've always been for sale."

 

* * *

 

Tyrion was about to cry himself but he didn't. Instead he said. "I cared about you." He swallowed the lump in his throat and found himself saying the next words with an intensity that burned his chest. "You have become the most important thing to me since I realized that the friendship between us is real. And it was, don't you ever say that it wasn't." He blinked the tears away before they could form.

Sansa raised her arms now to cover herself but her eyes are alive with something he did not want to know. Surprisingly enough, he no longer struggled with the words even though his anger was taking control of him. "I am not an easy man to love, Sansa, and in spite of knowing that, I still secretly hoped that one day a good woman will take that chance. I admit that at first it was my sympathy for your unfair circumstances that made me want to protect you but it was my desire to have a trusted companion that made me pursue you." He closed his eyes and then opened them again.

"And I won't deny that I wasn't tempted to take advantage of you. I won't deny that I didn't want you as a man. You are gentle and kind to me. You wrote me letters and expressed that you want to get to know me. And I wrote back to you because you have moved me and made me believe that someone like you could care about someone as wretched and alone as I am."

He wished he had wine. His head was dizzy with all these emotions pouring out of him. "And you take that all away all because you judged me harshly and expected the worst from me. How…" he was starting to feel the tears coming back. "How can you do that? After everything we've been through and the judgements we shared as equals who were both abandoned by the rest of the world, how could you believe that I would ever hurt you? You were my friend."

He swallowed again and quickly wiped the tears away before they could flow. Tyrion didn't wait for her to say anything. He was very angry. She had betrayed him for not believing in him enough. When he gazed at her again, he felt disgusted. "And now look at you," Tyrion said. "All grown up and trying to use your sex to manipulate and hurt me." He whispered. "Only my sister would be as cruel."

 

* * *

 

Sansa covered her mouth with one hand to stop herself from crying out. The tears wouldn't stop, however, and she was so ashamed to face him now that she stood up and crawled to the bed so she could bury her face in the pillow.

 _"Only my sister would be as cruel."_  Those words might as well be a nail in the coffin. As she lay there, his words vibrated across her body, holding her captive and scooping her hollow. She knew now that he had never been anything but true and loving, and she repaid all of that by throwing hurtful accusations at him.

_He is a Lannister, and I am a Stark. But he believed in fairy tales too and gifted me Ser Dunk and his tales. He stood up for me against Joffrey and the others every chance he gets, and he allowed me continue my education when it wasn't his obligation to grant me that. He is a Lannister but he was kind to me when he never had to be because I am a Stark and we weren't supposed to be friends. And I wasn't supposed to love him._

Sansa couldn't bring himself to face him anymore so she stayed there on the bed for an hour before she found the strength to glance back at him and find him already asleep. She watched him for a while. From a distance, he looked like a child she could cradle and she was almost tempted to do that. After making up her mind, Sansa walked to him with a blanket and carefully laid it on top of him so she wouldn't wake him up. She remembered the time he almost died from the Blackwater battle. What would have happened to her if she lost him then?

She brushed her fingers against his hair.

"My best friend," she whispered.

Sansa leaned down and kissed his forehead.

_My very own Ser Dunk._

 

* * *

 

Tyrion stirred from his slumber and found Shae and Podrick entering the chambers with trays of food. He realized that he was famished from all the wine he consumed last night. He tried to catch Shae's gaze and was only able to do so once she saw that Sansa's sheets are bloodless. He could have sworn he saw her smile.

Before he got up from his position, he noticed the blanket wrapped around him. Dumbfounded, he looked across Sansa who met his eyes calmly. She was dressed in new garments this time. Her hair was loose and haunting to look at as usual.

"It's time to break fast, my lord," she said.

He didn't know what else to say so he simply approached the table and took a seat. Before Podrick could move to serve them, Sansa herself reached for the bottle and poured him a drink. He watched her, still speechless. She then sliced the meat and placed the piece on his plate. Podrick just stood there and Tyrion could tell he was also uncomfortable and curious of the way the situation was unfolding. Sansa finished her service by giving him two dried eggs on his plate. When she sat back on her chair, she beamed at him. Her cheeks were pinkish.

"Thank you," Tyrion managed to mutter. He then waved a hand to dismiss Pod.

Once alone, he cleared his throat so he could say anything about the quarrel that they had last night but it was Sansa who spoke up first.

"I'm sorry for doubting you," she began. "I've been so used to being hurt and taken advantage of that my mind can go to dark places very easily these days."

Tyrion has no a clear response so he settled for. "You don't say?"

Sansa sighed and then added. "I care about you too, Tyrion."

He definitely doesn't know how to respond to that so he took his cup and drank the water. He placed it back down and cleared his throat again. "I was harsh last night," he finally spoke up. "I'm sorry about comparing you to…" He didn't finish it. "That was obviously out of line. And I want you to know that I won't force you to…have me in your bed. The," he glanced at the place where he slept. "I'm fine spending my nights there in that corner of the room."

"We have to share the bed."

"No, I won't impose—"

"Why not?" Sansa looked at him strangely. "You're my husband."

An awkward pause ensued. Everything has blurred together in the last few days that the reality was only beginning to sink in. Tyrion felt himself blush as he turned away slowly. "I suppose the bed is large enough. There are several pillows to offer...boundaries."

Sansa said nothing.

"Well," Tyrion turned back but has nothing else to offer so he turned his attention to his plate and began to devour his food without saying another word.

Sansa did the same but once in a while she would stare at him from across the table. Tyrion never returned her gaze. The anger he had was replaced with embarrassment by now, and he didn't want to look at her while he has yet to figure out the best way to make their marriage less tense and awkward for the both of them.

As Podrick cleared the table, Sansa surprised Tyrion by asking him to walk the gardens with him this afternoon. He couldn't refuse, partly because he was curious about how straightforward she has become. He wasn't sure how she managed to acquire that confidence but it was refreshing. Sansa returned to her old chambers to change into something more appropriate for an afternoon walk, he supposed, so he was left in their shared room by himself to select his own clothes.

Once that was accomplished, he met her outside. Sansa was dressed in a lilac gown which accentuated the curves of her body in a way that should not even be possible. Tyrion can't stop sneaking glances at her chest (considering he has seen it bare last night, and he had even fondled her breasts). He shook the image from his mind and focused on keeping up appearances. They now walked side by side as Shae trailed behind them. Now Tyrion was becoming more nervous, walking with his new wife and his whore. The three of them together out in public would be downright scandalous if it wasn't for the fact that he is now married to this young girl, and no one knew that he's sleeping with her handmaid. Still, their group earned some glances and derision. Tyrion even locked eyes with two noblemen who openly grinned as they walked passed. He muttered their names under his breath. "Ser Eldrick Sarsfield and Lord Desmond Crakehall." He repeated it again.

"What are you doing?"

"I have a list."

"A list of people you mean to kill?"

"For laughing at me? Do I look like Joffrey to you?" He smirked to himself. "No, death seems a bit extreme. Fear of death, on the other hand…"

"You should learn to ignore them." Sansa remarked as she placed her hands in front of her and looked quite serene as she walked passed the next set of people who silently mocked them with their eyes.

"My lady," Tyrion began, "People have been laughing at me far longer than they have been laughing at you." He puffed his chest for effect. "I'm the Halfman, the Demon Monkey, the Imp." He often found that making fun of oneself lessens the impact of other people doing it so he did just that.

"You're a Lannister." Sansa interjected. The way she said it was almost like she was paying him a compliment which he knew was not the case. It made him feel guilty all of a sudden. But then Sansa spoke up again. "I, on the other hand, am the disgraced daughter of the traitor Ned Stark."

Tyrion snapped his head to her direction, his eyes widening. Her voice sounded calm enough without any trace of the usual coldness every time she would hold back a piece of truth. He observed her expression for a while and saw no indication of distress. It was the first time he ever heard her refer to her predicament so casually especially about her father. And yet it was somewhat admirable that she no longer brooded over her tragedy like she used to. It occurred to Tyrion that this was no longer the same child he dealt with. She had indeed become a woman.

He turned his attention back at the pathway and remarked. "The disgraced daughter and demon monkey. We're perfect for each other."

He turned his head to acknowledge Shae from behind them but her expression was harder to read. Sighing, Tyrion turned away from her.

"So how should we punish them?" Sansa asked.

"I could speak to Lord Varys and learn their perversions," Tyrion offered. "Anyone named Crakehall must certainly be a pervert."

"I hear that you're a pervert."

Tyrion did not look at her in fear that she might see that he was currently thinking about what happened last night when he kissed and touched her and she almost had her hand around his…

"I am the Imp," Tyrion replied as he tried to shake the thoughts away once more. "I have certain standards to maintain."

To his surprise, Sansa stopped walking and sat by the closest bench. She leaned to ward him and said. "We could sheep shift Lord Desmond's bed."

Tyrion looked confused so she explained. "You cut a little hole in his mattress and you stuff sheep dung inside. Then you sew up the hole and make his bed again. His room will stink and he won't know where it's coming from."

"Lady Sansa!" he almost laughed.

"My sister used to do that when she was angry with me," Sansa looked down and smiled wistfully to herself. "And she was always angry with me."

Tyrion's expression softened. He thought about Jaime at that moment.

A few seconds passed before he asked. "But why sheep shift?"

Sansa then gave her mildly amused look and answered. "That's the vulgar word for dung," she paused and something in her eyes changed. "Wait…that's not…" she fell silent. And then: "Robb and Jon lied to me," she said softly, embarrassed.

And Tyrion did laugh aloud this time. Shae was also smirking behind them.

 

* * *

 

Sansa went back to their chambers the moment her husband was summoned to a small council meeting on the other side of the castle.  _My husband._  Hearing that phrase in her head made her stomach flip.

She had sent Shae away earlier to find some old rags from around the castle. She planned to surprise Tyrion by getting ready for the sheep-shi— _shifting_  that she thought was a clever idea to get back at those men who made fun of him. First, she needed rags to patch together. Once she's done with that, Shae will help her get outside and stuff the linens with dung. She hasn't exactly been near places with dung before that she could touch it and play with it (she had never been as wicked and adventurous as Arya) and though it was surely going to repugnant, she confessed that this was actually an exciting venture for her. It would certainly surprise Tyrion some more, and perhaps he might begin to see his wife in a different way than the sad girl that she had been for a long time now.  _His wife._  Sansa felt her chest cave when she repeated that phrase in her head.

She was sitting there by the bed, knitting the first two pieces of rags together when the door opened. Sansa looked up expectantly but saw Tyrion instead. Quickly, she pushed the rags away and smiled at him. "How was the meeting, my lord?"

Tyrion approached her and she did not like what she saw on his face.

"Sansa," he began. But he didn't say anything anymore.

"What is it?" She was almost afraid to hear what he would say next.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so, so, sorry…"

Sansa pressed her hands together and looked him directly in the eye. "Tell me."

Tyrion's mismatched eyes were even more pitiful to look at as he said. "Lady Catelyn and your brother Robb passed away."

She didn't even blink. "What happened?"

Tyrion looked scared but she ignored it. "Tell me."

He stayed where he was as he explained. "It was…" he cleared his throat. His voice sounded hoarse and foreign to her ears. "There was a wedding at the Freys. Your uncle Edmure was to wed one of Walder Frey's daughters. Robb and Lady Stark were invited and during the feast, they were…"

Sansa kept looking at him, her face composed. She remembered Robb's hair; the way it curls, the way it shines when it touches the light.

But she remembered his eyes the most.

Tyrion could not go on so Sansa urged him with unexpected stoicism. "Tell me."

“Your brother was,” Tyrion spoke the words quietly but they echoed across the room, “stabbed and they killed your mother last. It was…”

Unable to meet her gaze anymore, he lowered his head and looked even smaller than he already was. "My lady…Sansa, I am truly—"

Something within Sansa felt the need to ask. “Did the Freys act on their own?”

Tyrion’s eyes widened. He did not answer. Sansa then understood.

“Sansa,” he tried again, “I didn’t know. If I did, I—“

But Sansa was already on her feet. "May I be excused?"

Tyrion could only look at her in shock so she passed him by to get to the door. She didn't care if he followed her. All she could think about was getting back inside her own chambers to lock herself in. She wanted to hold her father's doll. She wanted to collapse on the bed and never wake up. And then she thought about the small box where the vial was kept. The one that Tyrion gave her ages ago.

 _Wildfire,_ Sansa thought, her heart ablaze.  _Just drops of it can burn or kill._

Her footsteps quickened in anticipation.

"Sansa!" Tyrion was catching up to her. "Please, my lady. Talk to me!"

But Sansa already reached the door. She slammed it before he could get close enough to stop her. She could hear him still calling her from the other side but Sansa ignored him. The darkness of the room was very familiar to her—the only thing she ever knew. She slowly approached her table where the nearest candle was. She lit it up.

Sansa looked at her reflection one last time before she pulled the drawer and almost smiled when she saw the box. Her hands shook as she took out the vial. She watched the way the glass glimmered from the light of the candle beside her.

All she had to do is to pour it into the candle and let the fire claim her wings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

_“One day we’ll meet again and you’ll see me completely. And maybe you’ll love me then”_


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion makes a vow and Sansa confesses.

* * *

**A Lannister pays his debts**

 

* * *

 

_She’s not a child._

Tyrion was still getting used to this new idea but it was proving to be a very promising concept for the both of them at this point. He knew that he was guilty for treating Sansa as a child for a long time because she was, but there are also so many ways that she wasn’t. It had little to do with her flowering although he wouldn’t lie about the fact that she has become more desirable to him as a man by now, and available at that, for she is rightfully his. She is bound to him by the laws of the Seven, and yet Tyrion would not claim her for himself unless she wants him. _She won’t want me that way,_ he warned himself but that idle reassurance did little to undermine his desire of her.

It wasn’t her flowering that defined her womanhood. For Tyrion, it was that strength he had recognized back then but could only truly comprehend now. He had seen it before in her late mother; the kind of strength that bends only to shape itself into a weapon that whatever a dangerous situation might require. _Sansa Stark, my lady wife, is a tempered steel_ , he thought. There was admiration in this realization which was quickly replaced with guilt.

 _My wife she may be_ , he contemplated sadly, _but I remain more of a warden than her husband. She still belongs to the den of lions._

When he was summoned to the small council meeting that afternoon, he was almost tempted to turn the invitation down (though he knew too well it was obligatory and it must be considered an honor when it was Tywin Lannister who summons you). He didn’t want to leave Sansa’s side, mostly because he was comfortable in her presence for the first time. She spoke her mind more freely now and she seemed generally at ease with him, considering their awful wedding night. Tyrion knew he had said some regrettable things to her then but everything else was a blur. He remembered that he was angry because she was needlessly spiteful that night, but he couldn’t recall the exact words he said that must have changed her mind. Whatever it was, she was slowly beginning to trust herself to be genuine around him again. Tyrion wanted to know if that’s a sign for good things to happen from now on.

He dismissed it. _Nothing will ever come easy with us._

He saw Joffrey smiling as soon as he walked into the hall and that was a very bad sign indeed. He seemed quite pleased and Tyrion dreaded the reasons. He glanced at Cersei who was presently sullen (which worried him some more) and then he met his father’s gaze as one would look at a wall and find absolutely nothing was staring back at him. Once seated, Joffrey hurried to his side like a boy who has just killed his first animal and was eager to present it. Again, that was not a helpful indication, but instead of a dead animal (which would have been better, as Tyrion thought afterwards), Joffrey showed him a parchment.

As his eyes perused the contents (the details were not specific, cleverly phrased in symbolism that left him unsettled), he almost wanted to crumple the paper and feed it to his nephew. He paused first before he remarked, “So the Young Wolf has perished.”

“A fitting justice, don’t you agree, uncle?” Joffrey might even giggle. He simply could not contain his mirth. He addressed Lord Varys. “Tell them what else was done to the corpses. Tell my dear uncle what your spies have reported.”

Lord Varys acted as if he’s detached from the situation as expected but his eyes had a dark tinge Tyrion noticed. His tone did not fluctuate in any way as he explained. “Robb Stark’s direwolf was beheaded and its head was sewn into his corpse. Lady Stark was stripped bare and thrown into the river as a mockery of the Tully funerary traditions, no doubt.”

This time Joffrey did giggle. The sound pierced through Tyrion. He raised his hand from the table slightly, aching to slap him. He didn’t dare to comment further. Instead he found himself watching Tywin from the other side of the table who was just as silent as he was as if he couldn’t care less about the news himself. He was not fooled though. Tyrion knew his father orchestrated everything; the Freys would not act on their own without the guarantee that the mighty lion will protect them. He glanced at everyone around the table and everyone looked grim or at least not as expressive with their celebratory sentiments.

“Lord Varys,” Joffrey said in a sickly sweet tone. “Is it possible to acquire Robb’s head? His corpse no longer needs it after all. Would you be so kind and fetch it for me?” He grinned widely. “I shall like to present it to Sansa on my wedding feast.”

“Enough!” Tyrion snapped, unable to control himself. “How many times do I have to tell you? Sansa is my wife and she is no longer yours to torment.”

“Everyone is mine to torment!” Joffrey spat out. He took a deep breath and then angrily proclaimed. “I am THE KING!”

Cersei looked like she was going to say something but it was their father who spoke up. “A true king does not need to shout his authority for it to be recognized.”

Tyrion bit his tongue to stop himself from smiling as Joffrey turned his proud head towards Tywin’s direction. He knew better than to talk back.

Tywin held Joffrey’s stare with ease, as if the entire thing was more of an irritation than real trouble. He dismissed the boy king by saying, “I think some milk of the poppy will calm Your Grace’s nerves. Maester Pycell, would you kindly escort him back to his chambers?”

But Cersei was also standing up. She placed her hand on her son’s arm but Joffrey shook it off and roared pitifully. “I am not tired!”

Still unmoved, Tywin merely stared in silence until Cersei managed to mutter comforting words and sway Joffrey to walk out of the hall with her. Joffrey shot Tywin one last lingering defiant look and then he scoffed and turned away. When he passed by Tyrion, he couldn’t help but sneer at him. Tyrion wanted to grin just to mock him but he restrained himself, cautious not to further infuriate the boy king and add insult to injury.

Tywin turned his attention back to his son. Tyrion waited.

“I expect you’re doing your duty,” Tywin remarked with a tone of finality.

“You expect too much,” Tyrion didn’t mean to say that aloud.

“Sansa Stark is the heir to Winterfell,” Tyrion replied, “Bedding her and putting a son in her belly will secure our claim to the North.” The explanation was simple and there was no indication that Tywin cared about anything else but the fulfilment of that command.

Tyrion exchanged glances at Lord Varys and the spider only nodded his head solemnly to show his agreement. Suddenly, Tyrion chuckled but without a trace of amusement.

“And when do you think is the moment for bedding most ripe for our lady wolf?” He was already pushing himself off the chair. “Once I tell her that her mother and brother have been viciously killed? Do you think that would make her spread her legs for me?”

Tywin stared and said nothing, just as he had when he had Joffrey sent away earlier. But, unlike the boy king, Tyrion did not hesitate to storm out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion slowed down his steps as he reached the chambers he shared with his wife. He stopped by the wooden door as he tried to sift through the rage and guilt so he could compose his thoughts and deliver the crushing news.

After a few more minutes, he pushed the door open and stepped in.

Sansa was by the bed, knitting. When she looked up to see him enter, there was a small smile playing on her lips. _Good gods, she looks pleased to me._ Tyrion would give the other half of his nose to turn back time so he wouldn’t be standing here to tell her the awful truths she should never have to listen to.

He opened his mouth to call her but he couldn’t go on after that.

"What is it?" Her face quickly changed.

"I'm sorry," Tyrion would have knelt, hoping that would be enough penitence. He took a step closer, dreading the deluge that will come after. "I'm so, so, sorry…"

Sansa’s expression was inscrutable. The lifeless quality in her eyes terrified Tyrion more than anything. But he also couldn’t look away as she said, "Tell me."

He parted his lips but the words wouldn’t come. Tyrion closed his eyes and then he opened them again as he almost murmured softly, dreading she will hear the words. "Lady Catelyn and your brother Robb passed away."

No pause whatsoever. She asked with a calm tone, "What happened?"

When he said nothing more, she simply asked again, "Tell me."

"It was…" Tyrion pretended to clear his throat, and then he went on. "There was a wedding at the Freys. Your uncle Edmure was to wed one of Walder Frey's daughters. Robb and Lady Stark were invited and during the feast, they were…"

The wound on his nose itched. He wanted to rip it apart

"Tell me,” Sansa sounded to strange as if she was so far away.

“Your brother was stabbed and they killed your mother last.” Tyrion’s voice quivered in spite of himself. “It was…my lady… _Sansa_ ,” he looked at his feet, afraid that the tears in his eyes will only make her angry.  “I am truly—"

 “Did the Freys act on their own?”

He suddenly looked up in surprise. His reaction was enough answer. He could see that she understood. _He knew that the Lannisters had a hand in it…_

“Sansa,” he tried to beseech her, “I didn’t know. If I did, I—“

But Sansa now towered above him. "May I be excused?" She didn’t wait for an answer from him, however, and was already walking out of the room. It took seconds before Tyrion could react and when he did, the panic in his gut rose to his throat.

"Sansa!" Tyrion followed, quickening his steps. "Please, my lady. Talk to me!"

 _Don’t shut me out_.

Sansa sprinted to her old chambers and locked the doors.

_Let me in._

He would have pounded at the wood frantically and urge her to open herself up to him but what could he do to lessen her pain, let alone heal it? What could he possibly offer her that she would take? She’s been battered and abused by demons and he had been their kin. In spite all this, somehow she still allowed herself to trust him and that faith was repaid by blood and death. Tyrion never felt so small and helpless until this very moment as he stood on the other side of the door that is not the only thing that separates them. He wanted to give up. He shouldn’t force her to confide in him. Indirect as it may be, he was responsible for her wounds. Tyrion took a step back and closed his eyes, praying to whatever god would hear. If there was anything worth praying for, anyone who is ever worth saving—

“Please,” Tyrion whispered, and then he raised his voice. “Sansa, open the door.”

He waited. Everything has ceased to exist at that point, and there was only the door before him and the prayer in his heart.

Finally, he heard a voice. But it came from behind him.

“My lord,” It was Varys. He held out a hand where a key lay on his palm. “I heard voices so I came to see what had happened. It seems that the lady Sansa is grieving quite profoundly, and it is your duty as her husband to soothe her.”

Tyrion didn’t ask where he even got a key (with Varys, sometimes there are questions one shouldn’t ask). He took it and unlocked the door. And then he turned to look at Varys to say something but the spider was already walking away. He made a note to thank him later.

It took a while for his eyesight to adjust in the semi-darkness. There was a candle near the bed. He sought for Sansa and found her near the window, her back turned away from him. She looked as haunting as she was beautiful and Tyrion could hardly believe there was ever a time when she was just a happy, carefree girl back in Winterfell. _She had tasted too much despair for her age._ He had to call for her name twice before she finally met his gaze.

Tyrion was about to say something to comfort her but then his eyes travelled down her hands which clasped something tightly between them.

“I wanted to do it,” Sansa spoke up, her voice so hushed he could barely hear it.

Tyrion risked a step closer. “What do you have there, my lady?”

Half of Sansa’s face was cloaked in shadows. She lowered her hands and showed him what was inside. Tyrion was close now and as soon as he glimpsed at the small vial of wildfire within, the first thing that came to his mind was to grab her wrists and force her to give up the flammable poison. He restrained himself; he didn’t want to alarm her. Besides, he could see that the urgency to kill herself has subsided already and was instead replaced by grim surrender.  Tyrion reached out a hand, imploring her, “Please, Sansa.”

She looked at him meekly, all life force drained out of her. From this distance and minimum light, she might as well have been a ghost.

Carefully, Sansa placed the vial on Tyrion’s palm. He didn’t care to look at it as he approached her table so he could pull out a drawer and safeguard it there. He sighed and turned to her again, measuring his next words. “Give me your ring.”

Sansa didn’t move at first and then she raised her hand and did what was asked. Once she slipped the ring from her finger, Tyrion walked to her and gently took it from her grasp. It was as big as a thumb, made of gold and encrusted with small, delicate rubies. He allowed himself a smile of relief and then he took Sansa by the other hand and led her to the bed where he made her sit. Gathering courage and certainty, Tyrion began to speak.

“I have never been more ashamed to stand before you…” he paused and then continued, “…a Lannister. I am sorry that we took you from your home where you were safe and where you were loved, and for all the darkness and deaths that surrounded our families.”

Tyrion raised the ring as he announced boldly. “As your husband, I pledge to you on this day forward and for many days to come to cherish and protect you, to lay down my life for you if it means your survival.” He took her hand and slowly slipped back the ring in her finger. “I am no handsome prince or dashing knight,” he went on as he looked into her eyes. “But show me your heart and the pain it carries and I will try everything in my power to cease its aching.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it with all the tenderness he can give.

When he pulled himself away to gaze at her face again, he saw the tears in her eyes glistening against the soft light from the candle beside them. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off when Sansa wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, clutching him with a possessiveness and strength that astounded him. He couldn’t move at first until he heard her sob against his shoulder.

Tyrion closed his eyes and held her back, remembering the first time he did when she was naked and bruised after Joffrey and her knights had their way with her. His own tears stung. His chest was full and empty all at once.

 _The gods have heard me_ , he thought as he buried his face on the locks of her hair and the scent was exactly what he imagined home must be.

 

* * *

 

The morning found Sansa as a woman.

She didn’t feel four-and-ten years old anymore and her body certainly didn’t seem like it either, not with its deep-seared scars and familiar wounds that have yet to scab.

She was lying on her left side, watching Tyrion Lannister snore peacefully beside her. The battle scar he had sustained from Blackwater etched his features from the cheek to half his nose. It was a gruesome sight but some may even say the same thing with the lashes on her back or the knife-imprints on either wrist. Sansa peeked through her arms then, tracing a finger through the skin, remembering the harshness of the cold blade slicing the flesh. She remembered the way she whimpered; the way Joffrey asked her to scream for him.

Sansa closed her eyes to forget the feeling, and when she opened her eyes again she only saw Tyrion now, her benefactor, protector and loyal husband. She would never doubt him ever again. _This will be enough_ , she smiled wistfully to herself, _to chase the ghosts away._

Cautiously, Sansa traced his scar with her little finger yet barely touching his skin. She breathed out and listened closely as it matched his own. She glanced at the rest of him from underneath the covers; the stunted legs, most of all. _He’s small like a child but he is every inch a man_ , she mused as she placed a hand on his knee and then she raised it to feel the steady heartbeat in his chest. _He’s a grotesque creature. A dwarf._ She thought about the songs and how some of its tales depicted his kind as cowards or mummers, their purpose is to delight or to be ridiculed. _The gods might have made him a dwarf but he’s never been more perfect for me,_ Sansa leaned closer to kiss his cheek. She pulled away slightly and closed her eyes.

Tyrion stirred slightly and grumbled. He was still fast asleep.

She slowly sat up, careful not to wake him. As soon as she did, the door opened and both Shae and the squire Podrick entered her chambers.

Podrick look abashed and he lowered his head. Shae looked at Sansa as if not really seeing her and then she said. “Does my lady wish to break her fast?”

“Yes, thank you,” Sansa smiled at her. “Just bring the food here.”

As the servants settled the plates and pots on the table, Tyrion still slept through, turning to the right side once and not giving any indication he’s going to wake up soon. Sansa ate her bread with eggs and enjoyed the warm goat stew. She even allowed herself to a sip of wine to accompany her small feast. She couldn’t remember the last time food tasted this good and filled her stomach with satisfaction.

 _I wanted to die the night before,_ she thought to herself, _and now it’s as if my life is finally mine again and I could live it as I please._ She glanced behind her where her husband lay. _Queen Cersei was wrong about the songs after all. I knew they can’t all be lies._

When she finished her meal, she asked Shae to accompany her in the garden and for Podrick to watch over Tyrion until he wakes up. Sansa was hoping that she would encounter Lady Margaery on her stroll today. She hasn’t spoken to her since two days before the wedding. But there was no sign of her anywhere; not even Ser Loras was in sight. She wondered if the Tyrell siblings still plan to continue a friendship with her. She hoped they would. Margaery is important to her. Aside from Shae, she was the only person in King’s Landing she could bear her secrets and innermost thoughts to.

Sansa looked over Shae and hesitated. _Should I confide in my handmaid_?

Quick as ever, Shae noticed and inquired. “Something on your mind, my lady?”

“Well,” Sansa felt the color rise in her cheeks. “I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“I can wait,” Shae reassured her.

Sansa slowed down her pace and her handmaid followed suit. She began speaking in a hushed tone, “You must wonder why Lord Tyrion and I were in my chambers last night.”

“It’s a duty behind man and wife.”

“No, that’s not it,” Sansa now blushed. “We did not—not on our wedding night or last night. He and I have been…very good friends before all of this. It was uncomfortable at first since we got married, but now I think it’s becoming easier for both of us.”

Shae said nothing so Sansa went on. “He paid for my education. He kept me away from Joffrey. He encouraged me to befriend the lady Margaery,” she looked at her hands and smiled. “He wrote me letters. He gave me the book about Ser Dunk’s adventures.”

Shae turned to her and said, “Yes, he has been kind to you.”

“It’s not only that,” Sansa replied, measuring her next words. “I think he wanted me since he saw me in Winterfell. When Robert was king and he visited us to ask for late father to become Hand, I met Lord Tyrion for the first time. I still remember it…” she trailed off for a while to recall the incident. “He had too much wine and I had to hold him up so he could walk back to his room,” she chuckled. “I thought he was funny.”

She looked across Shae to see her reaction but her handmaid only nodded at her to acknowledge that she was following the conversation.

“I’ve always believed I’ll marry someone like the Knight of Flowers,” Sansa looked across the garden, her eyes resting upon the roses around them. “To get that, I know I need to learn everything there is about being a lady. And I did everything right. I also believed in the magic and joy of songs. I believed in everything my lord father and lady mother told me even if they turned out to be half-truths in the end.” Sansa tried not to think about the late Lady Catelyn. She tried not to picture her face; her hair that was a darker shade of red than her own. She stopped walking altogether to face Shae. “I only have to follow a straight line to get everything I want; like all the songs have promised as long I am a good girl. I did my duties without complaints, expecting rewards someday.”

Shae only listened. Sansa let out a sigh and then went on. “But since meeting the Lannisters, I lost more than I wanted to gain and preserve. I also learned a new set of lessons of being a proper lady here in King’s Landing. I learned to lie, to suppress my thoughts, to deny my feelings—to live each day like it still matters, even if all I wanted to do is to either die or go home. And I can never go home.”

“My lady,” Shae began but did not finish.

As if understanding that she wanted to offer her comfort, Sansa took her hand and squeezed. “But I don’t want to die.” She blinked away the tears. “It took being so close to the edge of death for me to understand how much I wanted to live, and to accept the things I’m willing to do and sacrifice in order to do just that.”

She let go of Shae’s hand and started walking again. “I’m not afraid anymore.” She announced it not just to herself or her handmaid but to the rest of the world and the gods whom she knows only listen and watch. It was only her who could help herself now.

“I’m happy to see you grow up, Sansa.” Shae took her hand this time and made her stop on her tracks so they could face each other. “That’s all I wanted for you.”

Sansa smiled at her and cupped her cheeks with her hands. “Thank you. It’s a rare thing for me to find an ally who cares as much as you do.” She lowered her hands and looked off in the distance. “He cares about me too, and for a time it scared me because it didn’t make sense. But now it does.” She smiled softly and glanced back at Shae.

“I have been falling and falling and falling—I thought it would never end,” her smile widened. “But I have landed at last. I found myself in his arms. I could be in the darkest pits of the unknown and I wouldn’t care as long as he holds me close to him.”

Shae blinked at her but said nothing, listening earnestly to every word.

“I love him, Shae,” Sansa finally said it and her face felt like it was going to melt. Her throat felt dry. Her chest hurt. But she finally said it. “I’m in love with a man I should have every reason to hate.” She felt her eyes well up with tears again but they were because of joy for the first time since she came here. “I’m in love with Tyrion Lannister.”

 

* * *

 

Tyrion told Podrick to eat with him since his lady wife was with Shae for her morning stroll. His squire was shy as always but he could tell that the goat stew pleased the boy because he had not eaten anything like it before. Tyrion regarded him with warmth, remembering how brave he was during the Blackwater battle; that the boy saved his life. _There are many things for me to be grateful for, I suppose._

Afterwards, he changed into fresh garments and set out to look for Lord Varys. He found the spider tending to one of his little birds, a young boy about eight years, with a sunburnt face and some missing teeth. His eyes darted nervously between Tyrion and Lord Varys but the spider patted his head as if to assure him that Tyrion is not a foe. When the boy left them, Tyrion seated himself on a chair across Lord Varys and said, “You were very helpful last night. I feel as if I owe you a debt that I need to pay now and get over with.”

Varys’ smile was mild. “You’re very welcome, Lord Tyrion.” He paused and then, “As for debts, I don’t require anything urgent; just your constant presence in the king’s affairs.”

Tyrion chuckled bitterly. “You would have me risk my head for our beloved Joffrey? I might be his uncle but he heeds no other counsel than the demons in his head.”

It was Varys’ turn to chuckle. “When you were Hand, King’s Landing has prospered under your direction even if that progress was gradual and subtle.”

“My father is Hand as the gods would have it.” Tyrion remarked. “And all is well.”

“How is the lady Sansa?” Varys decided to change the subject abruptly.

Tyrion didn’t mind. “She has slept and eaten well.”

“And you, my lord?”

“I feel just fine, Lord Varys,” _Given everything, that is._

“I saw Lady Sansa walking with our common friend in the gardens.” His smile was a tad wider now. “Wouldn’t you join them?”

“I certainly plan to,” Tyrion eyed the spider for a while before he got on his feet and left him to his schemes. _Varys is both friend and foe, depending on the situation,_ he surmised.

He walked along the rosy pathway, taking note that since the Tyrells have settled and occupied the Red Keep, the gardens have been implanted with roses of red, white and yellow. He wondered if that was symbolic; roses are not just fragrant flowers but weeds that might need some plucking if they persist to grow and enshroud the castle walls. Tyrion didn’t think it concerned him for now, but he knew Cersei would see it as a bad omen.

He saw Sansa and Shae at last. They were sitting on a bench, facing the ocean. There were some ships across the harbor and Sansa looked like she was telling Shae about them which he found strange. Was she thinking about her escape? If she was, would he discourage her? She has every right to flee after all. Though he knew this to be true, it somehow made him sad to think about the possibility of her leaving. _Will she leave me behind and not think twice about it?_ Tyrion might know that the honorable thing to do is to let her make that decision but there was a part of him that wanted to make her stay and build a life together.

As he approached them, Tyrion’s thoughts turned to his first wife Tysha. He was about to recall the song she used to sing to him when Sansa turned to see him just in time. He allowed himself to smile. The sun was in her hair again, and it made it appear luscious. It made him want to run his fingers through it. He felt ashamed of that but then Sansa returned his smile. It made him think about the vow he swore to her last night and the way she wrapped herself around him in a vice grip as if she had done it a hundred times before.

He stood in front of her and Shae, and greeted them.

“May I have a word with my wife?” he asked Shae who looked at him blankly and went her way. He watched her go. It has been a while since they were alone and it made him feel guilty. He promised Shae he would provide for her and now that he has a legal wife at his side, where could Shae possibly fit into that arrangement? She was his whore, but she was also so much more than that to him. He cared for her. He needed her. But as he looked back at Sansa who was still smiling at him, he didn’t think he would want to spend another day with Shae again unless to sleep with her because it doesn’t seem like his lady wife would presently do that despite it being her foremost duty.

Tyrion sat beside Sansa now, trying to stop thinking about his problems about this new situation. His gaze rested upon the ocean and the ships, understanding the appeal of escape at this moment. An idea occurred to him.

“You’ve never been to Casterly Rock,” he began. “It’s just as warm as King’s Landing but it smells even better than this rat hole,” he paused and watched her expression. She was listening intently so he went on. “When I was of the right age, my father assigned me to clean and organize the drains and dykes of the city. I was quite effective on that post.” He cleared his throat and faced her completely now. “When the time is ripe, I could take you there. Granted it’s not Highgarden but the rock has mines where we procure our gold.”

Sansa nodded and said nothing. Tyrion was starting to worry so he kept talking. “You could come with me inside the mines so we could watch the workers. The caves would glimmer sometimes because of the gold,” he looked down while he remembered the sight. “My favorite part is when the welders would melt the rocks and shape them into coins or jewellery.” He placed his hand on top of hers where she wore her wedding ring.

“That sounds quite splendid, my lord,” she beamed at him and then squeezed his hand. “You must take me there someday.”

“Would you really like that?” he asked.

Sansa just smiled wider. “It sounds quite dreamy.”

Tyrion nodded and turned away. He also withdrew his hand.

“What’s the matter, my lord?”

“I was just…” Tyrion trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence. He looked at her again. There are so many things he wanted to say but only one clearly stood out among the rest. With a soft murmur, he said. “I’m very sorry about your mother and brother. If only I could do something to—”

“My lord,” Sansa interjected. “I wish not to dwell on losses anymore.”

Tyrion watched her face for a while before he nodded. He then let out a chuckle and remarked. “I wish I could say I know what you’re going through. But when my own lady mother died during childbirth, I shed no tears. I did not know her enough to grieve the loss.”

“But you must think about what she was like.”

“I do know what she was like,” Tyrion explained. “Everyone loved the late Lady Joanna. Her servants spoke well of her. My father was also deeply devoted to her. Jaime would often tell me how beautiful she is, and how kind and humble in spite of her station. I tried talking about her with Cersei once, but my sweet sister considered it an insult to her memory that I would even attempt to associate myself with her.”

“Surely they do not blame you for her passing.”

“You’ve met Cersei,” Tyrion shot her a look. “You know how she loathes everyone save Jaime and her children. I bet even her own reflection makes her cringe.”

“I should have seen through her earlier,” Sansa muttered as she looked down at her hands. “There were many times when the truth was laid before me and I simply did not want to see.” She looked back at him. “But I see things better now and my heart has never been sure…” she reached out to touch his hand. Tyrion tried not to wince.

He could not speak at first. And then he said. “I’m glad that you don’t doubt my sincerity anymore.” He squeezed back her hand. “I meant everything I said last night.”

Sansa said nothing. She merely slouched in her seat, sliding down just a bit. He watched her curiously as she turned completely to meet his gaze. She leaned closer. In this position, he was staring directly in her eyes and that’s when he realized what she was about to do. He waited for her face to reach his, just to be sure. As soon as she closed her eyes, Tyrion let her hand go so he could place it under her chin as gently as he could. His eyes were already shut when their lips touched. He didn’t dare to deepen the kiss, savoring the sensation of her lips first. When she slightly pulled away to look into his eyes again, Tyrion saw something he hasn’t seen in a while and recognized it as genuine affection.  And it destroyed and saved him all at once.

Cupping her cheeks with both hands now, Tyrion kissed her with certainty, giving in to urgent need that he has suppressed for so long. She tasted like never-ending summer and the heat it brought passed through his loins; it felt as though it could overflow out of him. Sansa pulled him up by the shoulders so his hands were now pressed on her lap. The thought of her thighs underneath him filled him with an overpowering desire that he had to pull away to take a gulp of air. He was literally breathless and Sansa was laughing. Her cheeks are almost as red as her hair. Tyrion did not have the words nor did he wish to speak. All he wanted to do was to kiss her all day. It turns out that Sansa had the same wish because she pressed her lips against him once more, her soft giggles pouring out as he parted his lips to accept her again. He held her by the arms now and the kiss was savage this time. He didn’t think he could ever stop. But he managed to. Sansa looked disappointed.

“I don’t—“ Tyrion took a breath and continued, “think this is the right place for this.”

“Then let’s find the right place, my lord,” Sansa’s smile was suggestive and the sight of it made Tyrion’s head spin a little.

“Sansa, I...” he thought about what his father said yesterday. His expression changed and Sansa saw it. Before she could ask, he began to explain. “My father sees you as a way to secure the North, to bring your fellowmen into the fold. And for that, he requires that we provide him an heir.” He turned away now.

But Sansa would not hear any of it. Instead she ran her fingers through his hair which made him look at her. “I grieve my brother’s lost cause since you told me the news of his death. I dreamt of home so many times that I forgot to live for what is within my reach now.” She touched his cheek. “This war will only get worse at this point but I have no wish to spend my days and nights dwelling on ghouls anymore.”

“He wants to use whatever child we may have as a means to his end.” Tyrion was overcome with sorrow then. “That is the debt we must pay.”

“A price I could learn to live with,” she remarked, “if it means I could be with you.”

Tyrion opened his mouth to say something but could not find the words to describe or let her know that he loved her from the day he saw her, and had continued to love her since even if he didn’t know it himself. There was no other way to express the deluge of those feelings because words will never suffice or capture the magnitude of that truth.

But Tyrion did his very best to express it all with another kiss.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion did manage to stop kissing Sansa after a while when he was summoned for another small council meeting that afternoon. He left Sansa reading more of Ser Dunk’s tales as she lay on the bed inside their shared chambers. No sooner when he got out of the room when Shae followed. He stopped on his tracks, waiting for her approach him but she merely stood from afar, watching him with an expression he could not decipher.

“My lady,” he began.

“I’m no lady,” Shae finally walked toward him. He could hear her say _I’m your whore_ even if she didn’t verbally express it. Embarrassed, he took a step back.

They waited for a few seconds to speak. Tyrion doesn’t know how to even explain how the circumstances have changed but Shae thankfully took the lead.

“I want you to know I understand,” she said.

“I will still take care of you, Shae,” he assured her.

“No,” she answered curtly.

“But Sansa sees you as her friend.”

Shae interjected. “I stayed in King’s Landing for you. So what happens to us now? What purpose will you have of me if not to warm your bed and fulfil your whims?”

“Shae, please.” _I never wanted to hurt you._

“You must do your duty as son and husband, little lion.” Shae was now heading back towards the door to join her mistress inside her chambers. Then she turned around to look at him and added. “But make your choice quickly because I have already made my own.”

She left him there to contemplate the enigma in her last words.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 _"Just hold onto me, I'll hold onto you. It's you and me against the world--it's you and me"_ ~Parachute


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Tyrion learn that love is patient and kind. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I could ever write the final chapter for this one, but this particular chapter at least is not as painful as the rest have been. Please enjoy and I hope you can wait patiently for its conclusion.

* * *

 

 

**The night is dark and full of terrors**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _The stories can’t all be lies_ , Sansa once argued when Cersei Lannister challenged and mocked her beliefs about tradition, chivalry and romance months ago when she had her moon blood for the first time. The queen regent looked at her with a blend of fury and amusement in her expression when Sansa spoke up which was regretful to begin with. But then Cersei Lannister asked, _Do you want to be loved, Sansa?_

Sansa held the older woman’s heavy gaze steadily even when she wasn’t sure how to answer that question best. But she tried to anyway and replied, _Everyone wants to be loved._

She thought Cersei Lannister would laugh at her in derision again but she didn’t. She looked at Sansa with a soft and pained expression she hasn’t seen in the older woman before. It still haunted Sansa to this day. She wondered why the queen regent was sad to hear her response. Sansa thought about it as she now lay next to her husband.

It was the first time that they decided to share their marriage bed. Tyrion had his back turned from her, already fast asleep. When he arrived to their chambers earlier, he seemed solemn, as if something was bothering him. Sansa knew better than to ask. Once in bed together, Tyrion didn’t even try to touch or hold her which baffled Sansa, seeing as they were both so eager to be with each other two days ago. She decided that he must be tired. His duties as the new master of coin must be taking its toll now.

Sansa glanced at the curve of his back furtively and wondered if she should wrap her arms around him, but that might wake him up. She let out a sigh and shifted in her position so she could face the other wall. She tried to empty her mind from any line of thought but the proximity of her husband next to her was starting to make her feel uneasy. Not in the usual, dreadful way akin to the way Joffrey makes her feel when he’s near. She couldn’t explain it. It was like a pressure at the back of her mind, insisting that she face her husband and put her hands all over him. The thought intrigued her and she wondered if she should just act on it. But she didn’t want to wake Tyrion. He wouldn’t be pleased to have someone touch him while he slept, would he?

Annoyed with her contemplation and hesitation, Sansa turned around to face her husband again. He was motionless, covered in thick blankets. With a slow yet deliberate movement, Sansa’s hand reached for his spine, tracing her two fingers against it. She then moved to cup his shoulder, squeezing gently. Tyrion still didn’t react. She sighed and moved closer as said hand moved down to rest on top of his elbow. Sansa placed her chin on his shoulder now, breathing out, almost into his ear. This time, Tyrion roused. Sansa stifled a gasp and removed her hand. She was tempted to move away. But then her husband opened his eyes, staring blankly upwards for a few seconds before he turned to look at her. It took him another few seconds before he realized what was going on. When he did, he abruptly sat up and asked. “Is something the matter, my lady?”

“No,” Sansa answered. “I was...” _What? What were you doing, foolish girl?_

Tyrion frowned. “Are you cold? Do you require more blankets?”

 _No, just your warmth._ “I’m fine, thank you, my lord.”

“Are you sure?” Tyrion then placed his hand on the top of her hand which was clutching the covers close to her. The contact was very brief since he immediately pulled back but that was all it took. Something very deep and persistent stirred inside Sansa. She moved close to Tyrion and captured his mouth with a kiss. A strained sound escaped his lips which actually delighted Sansa. She pressed her mouth against his with all the eagerness she could muster and it was only when she pulled away slightly that she realized that she was already pinning him down against the pillows. Sansa felt bad and apologized. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“ _Gods,_ ” Tyrion spoke up and it made Sansa afraid. He may be angry at her now for treating him so disrespectfully and crushing him under the weight of her body. But then his next action took her aback. With both hands, he reached out for her cheeks and pulled her down for another kiss. She wasn’t prepared for the way that chilled and warmed her skin all at once. Her stomach even started hurting a little and she couldn’t understand why. Despite that sensation, Sansa leaned into the kiss without even thinking about it. Her actions were not her own anymore. She pulled back to gasp for breath but immediately dove in again. Sansa cradled Tyrion’s head with both hands as she crushed their mouths together. She made noises that she was quite shameful of while it happened but that seemed to please Tyrion because she felt his hands cupping her breasts from the blanket covers that separated them. He gave them a squeeze. That made her cheeks flush so hot that she thought she could faint.

His fingers expertly moved against the soft mounds of flesh, and Sansa pulled back from the kiss once more to look at him, though she dreaded the expression in his face. But Tyrion only smiled at her and asked. “Is this acceptable to you, my lady?”

“What?” Sansa replied numbly, her mind far too gone to come up with something meaningful to say at the moment. So instead she sat up and placed her hands on top of his as they were still on her chest and Tyrion understood clearly what she wanted before she could even think and verbalize it. He rose up to bury his face on her bosom and for a while Sansa wondered what he was going to do. When she felt his mouth moving, she glanced down and saw him—unlacing her smallclothes with his teeth. _Gods,_ Sansa thought as she gulped down something hard on her throat and closed her eyes. Once she was exposed, Tyrion kept his hands on both her breasts as he suckled one and then the other alternately in a maddening rhythm that Sansa could even feel inside her thighs.

“Wait…” she tried to speak up. Tyrion didn’t seem to hear it. She said it again, this time forcefully pushing his head back away from her. “Stop…m-my lord. I’m sorry but…”

She was afraid that he might get angry at her sudden refusal. Joffrey and the Hound got mad at her when she had dissuaded their advances before. What more could be said about her husband who is entitled to her body by the laws of the seven?

But Tyrion merely chuckled. The mixture of amusement and desire in his features almost cut her deep in the most pleasurable manner she didn’t believe was possible. There was also a twinkle in his eye that made her want to kiss him again and hold on for life.

“It’s quite all right, Sansa,” Tyrion said. “I told you that I won’t let you do something you’re not comfortable with. I swore to all the gods and men to take care of you.”

Sansa nodded at that as she let out a relieved sigh. But then it occurred to her that she was still sitting on top of him as he lay there back against the covers. “My lord,” she began, her anxiety rising back again. She also started lacing up her smallclothes in slight panic. “Am I hurting you? I’m sorry—”

“Sansa!” Tyrion started laughing now. That further embarrassed her. She made a movement to get off him but then Tyrion caught her wrist. “No, stay there, my love.”

Sansa opened her mouth to say something about that. Hearing him refer to her as such came as a shock to the both of them and they ended up looking away from each other. Tyrion cleared his throat, still clutching her wrist. “Listen, Sansa,” he began as he gazed at her again. “There is nothing to be nervous about. I know that this is a delicate situation for a maiden of your virtue, but I can assure you that I will be patient and helpful every step of the way.” He held her hand now. “I want you to trust me.”

“I do,” she answered sheepishly. “You know how I feel about you.”

She looked back at him now and saw him blushing. He cleared his throat again.

“Yes,” he replied. With his other hand, he placed it on her hip and his fingers felt hot even against her smallclothes. Sansa watched his expression the entire time. Tyrion was no longer looking at her but was instead focused on his hand on her hip. There was something about the way he just lay there, admiring her on top of him, that quickened her breathing in anticipation of what’s about to happen next. He was so quiet and contemplative for a while now so Sansa decided to break the silence.

“My lord—Tyrion,” she began. “I have to…I need to be honest with you about something. Promise me you won’t get angry.”

“Of course, Sansa,” Tyrion’s eyes were back on hers again and that comforted her.

“The Hound,” she began, not sure how to go on.

A flash of concern passed by her husband’s features. “What about him?”

“He came to me during the battle,” she explained. “He…kissed me.”

Tyrion met her gaze steadily but his expression was inscrutable. He said nothing.

“My lord, I’m sorry.”

“No,” Tyrion answered. “There is nothing to fear, Sansa.” He paused. “Is that all?”

Sansa shook her head.

Now Tyrion looked genuinely perturbed. “Did he—?”

“He…tried.” Sansa couldn’t expound further. She was closing her eyes tightly now, hoping she could disappear. She didn’t hear him speak so she opened her eyes to see his face. Tyrion was just looking at her but his eyes are alive with something that is not rage but something closer to that at least. She tried to explain then, “I didn’t let him. And then I never saw him again. I swear by the gods and the honor of my—”

“Hush, my lady.” Tyrion finally said. “It is nothing for you to be ashamed of. You are a woman bled when he came to you. I understand if you somewhat…enjoyed the attention and the feeling that he brought out when he touched you.”

Sansa felt like crying. “I didn’t mean for it to be so…”

Tyrion cocked his head to the side now and then he smiled, squeezing her hand with his. “Sweet Sansa, it’s a normal thing. After all, what you’ve experienced then when the Hound kissed you and what you’re experiencing now with me are similar things.”

“No,” Sansa found herself answering without thinking. “They’re not.”

“Sansa—”

“I don’t mean to act very childish about this but please stop talking to me as if I am one.” She let his hand go and moved to sit on the other side of the bed where she proceeded to glare at him. “I’m well aware about certain feelings that men and women share when they engage in such activities. I’ve been talking to the lady Margaery. She told me things that allowed me to make better sense of how I felt then with the Hound and I am telling you now, my lord, that what I feel for you doesn’t compare.”

“I—“ Tyrion began as he turned to face her but Sansa cut him off.

“Please, listen.” Sansa went on. “When the Hound took me in his arms and forced down a kiss, I wasn’t sure how to conduct myself but I was also very afraid so I tried to appease him. He ended up pushing me toward the bed. Again, I allowed it. I was under duress and I felt…sorry for him. He was kind to me in his own way. And I simply wanted to assure him that…” she paused. “There was fire during the battle. He fears the fires. I wanted to comfort him.” Sansa closed her eyes again, remembering the memory and it almost broke her heart all over again. She shook it away and looked into her husband’s eyes now.

“But I felt hollow inside so I stopped him from going further. I didn’t want him though I know he wanted me. He also wanted me to come with him. He promised that he will take me away so no one will hurt me again. And I refused because I couldn’t trust him. Back then, I wasn’t sure how to trust any man…not the way I trust you now, Tyrion.”

Her husband just nodded. He waited for her to go on.

She took his hand again and gave it a squeeze. “I’m not ashamed because I felt aroused when the Hound touched me because you were right, it is a normal thing. What I am ashamed of was that I mistook his advances as a sincere form of affection and allowed myself to give in only because I was afraid I will never be held by a man like that again.”

Sansa smiled now as she pulled Tyrion’s hand to kiss it. She looked at him again and said. “I was relieved that I made the right decision at that moment. Even then, I was holding out for my beloved, and my patience was obviously rewarded.”

It was a gratifying sight to see the way Tyrion’s cheeks color the moment she said that. He slowly pulled their clasped hands together towards him now. He doesn’t look like he had any response to what she instead, so instead he placed his other free hand on her cheek and gave her another lingering kiss. When she leaned in against him, he dropped his hands to grip her hips and Sansa knew what he wanted now so she obeyed and rested on top of him again. Once there, Sansa pulled back to gaze down at him with tenderness. Tyrion still gripped her hips, holding her gaze with the same intensity. But when she parted her legs, thinking that he’d want to take her this way, Tyrion spoke up. “No, Sansa. Not tonight.”

“Oh,” Sansa could only say. Embarrassed, she moved back to the other side again. Tyrion was staring at her the entire time. Once she was in place, he pulled the covers up to her and patted her on the lap.

“You have early lessons tomorrow with the septas,” Tyrion explained. “Do get some rest so you’ll be refreshed for them.”

“I understand, my lord,” she replied rather stiffly.

Tyrion sighed as he removed his hand from her lap. “Sansa, you know I want you.”

She looked at him and smiled but then that smile quickly disappeared when she saw the same disheartened expression in his face. She should ask him what’s wrong, shouldn’t she? But Tyrion added. “But not tonight. Let’s sleep, my lady.” And then he lay back down the bed himself and closed his eyes, effectively cutting off any kind of communication between them. She was growing suspicious of this, but Sansa decided to let it pass. They will have more time to talk about things. They are man and wife after all.

Still, as she lay there on her side, she couldn’t help but wonder why Tyrion seems rather hot one moment and cold the next. Could it be because of the demands of his work? If he wanted her, then why doesn’t he claim her? She had given him the permission to do so tonight and he didn’t take it. Sansa turned to her left and closed her eyes, trying not to think about this quandary anymore, at least for the time being.

 

 

* * *

 

Tyrion watched Sansa and Ser Loras together for the second time this week. Neither of them knew of his presence from the corner where the pillar stone hid him in sight. Across them, both Septa Cora and Lady Margaery played their respective lyres as Sansa and Ser Loras danced in perfect timing and grace. They glided as a pair very comfortably as if it was the most natural thing, and Tyrion has never seen Sansa radiate the way she did whenever the handsome knight would twirl her around and catch her just in time. She would chuckle whenever their eyes would meet afterwards and Ser Loras would beam back at her.

Tyrion was sharply reminded of his own siblings. Cersei and Jaime are so beautiful to watch especially when they would dance together. Tyrion had loved watching them when he was younger but that soon turned to envy as the years went by. Jaime, in spite of the goodness of his intentions, tried to make him dance with one of their help’s children, a girl named Ashana who was about nine years of age and was therefore much shorter than him at fourteen. It went well when it was just the three of them in the balcony but when Cersei came in, she said the most cruel and demeaning of remarks. The worst part was that the child could understand what she meant and Ashana ended up laughing along at his sister’s cruel japes. When Jaime tried to step in, it was far too late. Tyrion moved away from Ashana and rushed back to his chambers, ashamed that he was going to cry if he didn’t hide in time.

“Well done, my lady!” Margaery Tyrell was saying. “And you too, brother. You and the lady Stark make quite a lovely pair, if I dare say so.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Sansa answered, still smiling. She obviously couldn’t contain her joy and Tyrion should be pleased that she’s finally learning to smile again. But Sansa smiled because Ser Loras made her feel happy and secure when they danced, and for that reason Tyrion felt like he was a young boy again back at Casterly Rock with a cruel sister and a wilfully ignorant brother; so unwanted that he can only look outside his own family like a stranger in the shadows (which, to be fair, is something he’s presently doing now).

He decided to walk away before he saw something that would send him despairing further into the depths. While he walked off, he chuckled in a self-deprecating manner, choosing now to regard the situation with detachment and humor.

He does not doubt that Sansa does love him. They have endured enough trials to know that their feelings can withstand anything. Their friendship had also given them hope especially when hope seemed like the last thing they could inspire in each other. And yet Tyrion feels… _inadequate_ somehow. But why? After all, Sansa expressed that she desired him as well last night. It was disturbing, to say the least, for a woman of Sansa’s demeanor and integrity to want someone as— _what, Tyrion? As ugly and unwanted as you, dwarf man?_

Tyrion scoffed as he pushed the door leading to the chambers where Podrick abruptly stood up from the chair, awaiting for his command.

“Some wine, my lord?” the boy asked with a goblet ready. Tyrion took it and made himself comfortable by the window as he waited for Pod to fetch him his fill.

Bronn stepped in a moment later, grinning. Tyrion glared at him. “I don’t recall sending for you.” He paused. “And what in the god of cunts’ name are you wearing?”

“I was fitted yesterday afternoon for new robes,” For effect, the sellsword turned around to accentuate his brand new armor that had a sigil of a burning chain with green flames (in honor of his contribution to the Blackwater battle). Tyrion almost wanted to make another comment, but he doesn’t want to come off envious because he clearly isn’t.

“Do you like it, Tyrion?” Bronn wasn’t exactly the type of man to look for validation, especially a superficial one at that so Tyrion knew he was merely testing his patience.

“Fine garments and fine armor,” Tyrion answered, “for a less than noble scourge of a man.” He gulped down his wine and asked Pod for another fill.

“I think the green brings out the dark in my eyes, no?”

“Yes, like pools of ink and death.”

“What’s with the face?” Bronn finally stopped admiring himself so he could give Tyrion a lingering gaze as he went on. “You look like you haven’t had a good fuck in centuries. And I assume I’m right on that regard, all things considered. You and Shae are avoiding each other. And the Stark girl is a child you claim you would not caress.”

“What I do in my marriage bed is not something you are free to openly mock.” Tyrion gestured for Podrick for another fill. “You forget your place.”

Bronn stepped to the left to block Podrick. The squire could only stand helplessly as Bronn took the bottle of wine away from his hands. “Oh, I know my place. I’m standing between you and your wasteful indulgence of a poison which could dull that crafty head of yours. I didn’t know Cersei already died and made you the royal drunk of this place.”

“Your concern is deeply moving my bowels, Bronn.”

“You know I’m right.” To make his point, Bronn gulped down the rest of his wine.

“You puny, insolent—“ Tyrion tried to stand up but felt instantly dizzy. Pod rushed to his side to keep him steady. Angrily, Tyrion pushed him slightly away. He looked up at Bronn who was grinning wide. Sighing, Tyrion remarked. “Dare I ask again, why are you here?”

Bronn chuckled. “No reason. Maybe I was just thirsty.” He shook the bottle for effect.

Despite himself, Tyrion chuckled back. “You do realize that one day you will outlive all usefulness to me and I might have you hanged just for being disrespectful.”

“One day,” Bronn poured what was left of the bottle into Tyrion’s goblet which the other man raised up immediately. “But not today.”

 

 

* * *

                                                      

The wine had lulled him to sleep much sooner than he thought, and Tyrion found himself waking up to the scent of freshly cooked meat and the night-sky outside as he perched on the nearby large window. He could hear hushed voices and recognized his squire and lady wife conversing. He rubbed his eyes and turned towards them. Sansa immediately caught his gaze and offered a smile. He returned it in all sheepishness as he fully sat up.

“Dinner is almost served, my lord.” Podrick spoke up first.

“That’s quite all right,” Tyrion steadied himself as he tried to stand. He didn’t want to repeat another embarrassing situation from earlier. When he managed to keep himself upright, he slowly walked towards the table where Sansa waited.

Without even a second thought, Podrick was already pouring his goblet. When the goblet touched his lips, he almost choked. He glanced at Pod, half-scolding him. “Water?”

“Apologies, my lord, but…” the squire trailed off.

“What, Podrick?” Tyrion wasn’t pleased at all.

“Ser Bronn stole all the wine bottles.”

“All of them?” Tyrion was almost enraged if it wasn’t a little funny.

“Just the ones in your own personal storage, my lord.”

From across the table, Sansa was laughing softly. “I suppose Ser Bronn was merely trying to discourage you from drinking too much, Tyrion.”

He looked at Sansa for a while, not sure what his response should be. When he found it, he answered. “You mistake Bronn for a caring man. He is not. I’m not paying him for his personal opinion or gesture of kindness as you seem to think he is capable of. Besides, I can handle my drink. I’m not my sister after all. It’s not like I’m already pissing wine or anything!”

Sansa looked amused. “Would you wait until that happens then, my lord?”

“Yes!” Tyrion almost proclaimed aloud. “I can drink as much as I want.”

Frowning, Sansa reached for her own goblet. “Then I shall join you. Podrick, please fetch some wine from the other cellar, if you could.”

Podrick looked at Tyrion first as if waiting for that request to be approved first but Sansa was quick to reprimand him. “This lady commands you, faithful squire.”

“Yes, apologies, Lady Sansa.” Podrick hurried off then.

Tyrion watched Sansa before saying anything in response. He had never seen her in this light before. She looked almost otherworldly with her newfound confidence, and Tyrion wasn’t sure he liked it but he couldn’t exactly disapprove. For the longest time Sansa Stark was the saddest and most pitiful young girl he has ever met and now she looked as regal as she was always meant to be as a noble lady who belonged to a major house. Kissed by fire as ever, her hair was luminous even when braided to her side in a modest manner. Her eyes which used to be filled with so much apprehension, if not with tears, are glowing now. She was looking at him as if she could easily read his soul from where she sat.

Recovering from his reverie, Tyrion finally answered. “You can’t drink with me, Sansa.”

“Oh?” Sansa’s voice was soft but the slyness behind it was unmistakable. “I only want to experience the joys that my lord husband seems to find from his drink which I believe are also able to slake more than his thirst. “ She paused, smiled wider and asked. “Would he deny this pleasure from me?” She said nothing afterwards but her gaze might as well have added: _As he denied the pleasure of bedding me last night?_

Tyrion frowned darkly. “Do not test me on this, my lady.”

“I am a woman grown, Tyrion,” Sansa answered back.

Podrick emerged, carrying the bottle. He looked back and forth from the two of them, waiting for any commands but neither of them spoke up.

Finally, Tyrion waved a hand in surrender and Pod understood. He poured the wine in both their goblets and then stood there between them as he waited for any other orders.

Sansa reached for the goblet and pressed the rim to her lips, watching Tyrion as she did. Tyrion did the same but with a more solemn manner. _What is she trying to prove?_

They drank in silence. Sansa gracefully sipping her share while Tyrion finished everything in one gulp. Before he could ask Podrick for more, Sansa spoke up first and said, “You may leave us, Podrick. I wish to discuss a sensitive matter with my husband.” She gave him a smile, “I will send for you later. And by then you will know what to do.”

“Yes, my lady,” Podrick didn’t look at Tyrion at all as he practically ran out of the room.

“Well,” Tyrion adjusted in his seat which was so uncomfortable all of a sudden. He looked at his plate mournfully in spite of the appetizing dish laid on it. “What are you conspiring with my squire all of a sudden? Are you throwing me a small nameday celebration tonight?” He picked up the fork and stabbed the meat before him, almost sullenly.

Sansa just sighed before she answered. “Are you certain nothing is bothering you, my love?” She placed down the goblet she had been holding for a while now. “You seem more preoccupied than usual and I’m very worried. I hope you don’t find me saying this disrespectful but it feels as though you refuse to confide in me whatever it is that ails you.”

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake._ Tyrion knew he was being incorrigible, he really was. His sweet lady wife is not to blame for his strange, dark moods. It’s that damnable Shae and her cryptic last words to him the night before. It’s Ser Loras for being able to make Sansa so jubilant earlier this afternoon, all because of his perfect curly brown locks and the rest of his audaciously good looks and breeding. And seven hells, it’s also Cersei’s fault. It’s always her fault.

“Sansa,” Tyrion began but could not continue for a few seconds. When he summoned enough sense and clarity, he added. “I’m just exhausted from…being a Master of coin. Of being the great Tywin Lannister’s son. About…everything, really,” he chuckled but it came out too grimly. “And I’m very sorry for last night. I knew I wasn’t very attentive at all, and right after you felt the need to confess about what happened with Clegane for whatever imagined slight you think I may take offense of.” He pushed himself off the table. That took some effort, considering his legs are even wobblier than usual. But Tyrion persisted and he walked towards the end of the table where his wife sat, waiting for him with that anxious expression in her face. It was awful to look at. With a trembling hand, he touched her shoulder.

“I don’t know what else to tell you to assure you I’m not hiding anything,” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. “I vowed to be honest with you and I intend to honor that promise. However,” he sighed again and then continued, “there are a few things about me that I would like to keep private, but not because I don’t trust you. Perhaps it has more to do with the fact that I don’t trust myself to share it yet,” he gazed into her eyes, “even if it meant creating some distance between us.”

Sansa raised her chin up slightly, her eyes narrowing. “And you’re willing to risk that?”

“Risk what?”

“Creating a distance between us?” Sansa moved her hand to touch his cheek. Her fingers were so warm. Tyrion felt instantly ashamed. “There is nothing more than I need from you,” she almost whispered, “than your guarantee that we will never be driven apart. Not by anyone, not by the gods themselves, not even by each other.”

“I cannot,” Tyrion swallowed, “—guarantee that, Sansa.”

_I am often the architect of my own destruction._

She closed her eyes and sighed. Her hand dropped from his face and then she moved away. For a moment he was afraid she will leave him there but then she only stood up and stretched her hand towards him. He looked down at it, puzzled.

Instead of addressing him, Sansa called for Podrick’s name instead.

The squire arrived quickly. Tyrion glanced at him and saw that he was holding a lyre. Before he could inquire where he got that damn thing, let alone be able to play it as Podrick began striking the strings with his fingers, Sansa was saying something to Tyrion.

“My lord and my love,” she said, “Will you dance with me?”

“Wh—?” Tyrion almost took a step back away from her.

Sansa insisted though. “Please. I’ve been learning. Ser Loras was kind enough to show me during my sessions with the septas.”

 _I was there. I knew that_.

“I asked Lady Margaery in passing about dancing and she was so generous to offer her help. I wanted to...dance with you, Tyrion.”

 _Why?_ His chest felt like it was murdering him.

He was suddenly enraged. “Did you tell them?”

“Tell them what, my lord?” Sansa looked defeated as she lowered her hand when it was obvious he wouldn’t take it. “Are you all—”

“Did you tell the lady Margaery and her brother that you intend to have me dance with you?” Tyrion knew he was asking that question with a loud voice. Podrick immediately stopped playing the tune, nervously darting his eyes from him to Sansa.

“Why are you raising your voice at me?” she sounded angry herself.

“I will do as I like,” Tyrion clenched his fists.

Sansa didn’t back down, however. “As will I!”

She stepped forward then and took both his clenched fists. The moment she made contact, Tyrion felt his resolve crumbling. He looked away from her face and hated her then for trying to appease his temper by soothing him with her tender touch.

“Please,” Sansa whispered as she knelt down to reach his height. Before Tyrion could react to the indignity of her stooping so low just to reach him, she had pressed her forehead against his. All he could see now are the tears that are starting to form against her eyelashes.

“Tyrion,” she whispered again and he felt her breath touch his lips. “I beg of you, don’t you hide from me. Don’t…put up walls like I did with you before. That’s not fair.”

Tyrion closed his eyes and felt so hollow.

“We have come so far,” Sansa pulled back now and she blinked her tears away as she tried to smile. “And we have always found a way. Together.”

“I’m sorry,” Tyrion took her hands and squeezed them. “I’m so sorry for being a wretched fool. I almost hurt you there, didn’t I?”

Sansa shook her head and raised their hands so she could kiss his.

“Sansa, I adore you,” Tyrion could hardly hear himself because of how loud his heartbeat pounded against his ears. “But I just…sometimes I still don’t feel I deserve you.”

“Why not?” Sansa was beginning to tear up again which was the last thing he wanted. That’s why he didn’t want to talk about this. “What else do you need to stop thinking of such horrible things?” She encircled her arms around him in a protective embrace.

“There are things I could never give you…” he squeezed his eyes shut as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. The scent of her hair—the warmth of her skin—he felt dizzy and frightened; overwhelmed by the realization that she really did want to belong to him. _Why would you want me?_ _Watch how you need to kneel just to reach me._

“Sansa, I cannot dance with you,” he finally admitted. “Think of how ridiculous that would look! Even in our private chambers, let alone out there in court.”

Sansa slowly disentangled herself from him to watch him speak. He went on. “And I saw you with Ser Loras earlier. You looked radiant and he was just _perfect_ for you. You fit so well in his arms. And you…giggle whenever he would turn you and catch you by the waist as you fall back into him…” Tyrion shut his eyes again then blinked wildly so the tears won’t come. “I could never do that. Look at how stunted my legs are! How short the width of my arms!” He moved them to demonstrate his point. “Look at the scar that almost took out my nose. Look at how malformed and ill-made the rest of my body is!”

He could hear Podrick walking out of the chamber and closing the doors behind him to give them the privacy. Tyrion started to wheeze a little, feeling curiously out of breath.

His lady wife said nothing. She just watched him with tear-stained cheeks.

“This isn’t the fairy tale you wanted, Sansa,” he said. “And you deserve that.”

With a gentle smile now, Sansa wiped her tears away. As their gazes locked on each other, she lowered herself further on the ground, almost sitting. Tyrion was about to command her to stand upright again but then she started to speak.

“Long ago,” she said, “before Cersei had him taken away, my father made a promise to find someone worthy of me who is brave, gentle and strong.”

Her voice quivered as she reached out a careful hand to touch his chest. “And for a time since he died, I almost gave up hope.” She winced when she tried to smile and her eyes began to water again. Tyrion didn’t fight his own tears as he listened.

 “But there you are one day in the throne room,” she continued, “when Joffrey and his knights had me beaten—and you reached out.” She paused to sigh and cry for a little bit before she pressed on again, “Tyrion, you saved my life! And you kept reaching out to me since, and I’m sorry—my love, I am so sorry that it took me a while to reach back.”

Pulling herself from the ground now so she could place both hands to cup his cheeks, Sansa said with a clearer voice matching the conviction of her words, “but I’m here now.”

Tyrion nodded as he laid his hands on top of hers.

“And I want you, _only you,_ because you are a thousand times more of a man than anyone I’ve ever met.” She kissed him hard on the mouth then, holding nothing back.

Before Tyrion could respond properly, she pulled away again and muttered against his lips, “You were everything that my father had promised—and so—much—more.”

She kept kissing his lips between the last three words.

“Sansa…” Tyrion managed to gasp out her name the second she allowed him some breathing space, but not for long. Winding her arms tightly around his frame, Sansa slowly pushed him down the ground and Tyrion didn’t dare resist her invitation this time. He pulled at her dress and ripped through the fabric with his deft but trembling fingers. Her eyes widened in shock but she didn’t let him go. Tyrion buried his face in her bosom as he struggled to pull at the laces behind her back, and Sansa obliged him, hastening the unravelling of her flesh with an agility and confidence he was continued to be surprised by. When she stood up to pull down her gown, looking as if she doesn’t care either that it’s almost completely ruined, Tyrion took her hand and walked her towards the door. When he pushed it open, Podrick stood there with a ready smile which dispersed as soon as he saw the state of his lady wife’s undress. He turned away without being told to and then started to pick up the trail of clothes that Tyrion and Sansa left behind as they walked together, not even bothering to stop and properly pull their garments off from one another. Their bedchambers are close by anyway, and Podrick was half-running behind them, carrying the pile of discarded clothes on his arms. Sansa used her back to push the doors open and then she tugged at Tyrion who is now shirtless and preoccupied on unbuckling his belt.

Wearing only her thin smallclothes, Sansa sat on the bed with her thighs slightly parted, and watched in glee as Tyrion crawled on top of her and kissed her neck. He nibbled and licked at the spot she never realized could make her toes curl as his hands cupped the swell of her breasts, thumbs circling around her now erect nipples. She opened her eyes only to see Podrick still picking up their garments from the floor.

“My lord,” she tried not to burst out laughing as Tyrion turned his head to see the squire awkwardly trying to fold everything without looking at either of them.

“In the name of R’hllor’s cock, Podrick!” he shouted and tried to throw a pillow at him but the boy in question was already running out. He shut the doors behind him.

Sansa collapsed on the sheets with a thankful sigh as she pulled her husband’s face with both hands to kiss him senseless. The kiss went on and on and on until both their heads are spinning and their lips are going numb. Tyrion sat up and urged her to turn around so he could properly remove the laces. She protested, asking him to just tear at them like he did with the rest but he laughed and tickled her on the side so she would lie on her stomach.

As soon as she did, Tyrion went for the lace, smirking, until he noticed…

… _the scars_.

Sensing his hesitation, Sansa spoke up, “What is it, my love?”

“Oh, it’s—”

She must have realized what he was looking at because she tried to turn around but then Tyrion hushed her and massaged her shoulder blades. “Sweet Sansa, it’s okay.”

He could feel her shaking underneath his palms.

“How—“ she cleared her throat and asked again. “How do they look?”

Tyrion traced a furtive finger on the slashes, his throat clogging as he felt the depth of each cruel laceration; all of these long and harsh abominations embedded permanently on the flesh of his beloved. The little shit Joffrey had marked her with so many wounds that scarred forever an otherwise luminescent pale skin.

But it didn’t matter now.

“Like you, they are testaments of strength,” Tyrion kissed one. And then another. And another one. Sansa whimpered with every caress of his lips on them. “And they are beautiful.”

Sansa turned around to meet the heat of his gaze.

He grinned at her, brushing away a strand of fire-kissed hair from her face.

“And you are beautiful, Sansa Stark,” he pressed his forehead against hers. “The most beautiful person in the ugliest of worlds.”

He kissed her forehead and then withdrew. Sansa laughed the most melodious laugh, and reached with one hand to touch the scar on his nose. He tried not to wince which was easy after all when she replied, “And so are you, my brave and gentle Tyrion. So are you.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 _“You saved my heart. You don’t even know me. My lost soul was saved by a stranger. You saved my life. You saved my life_ _.”_


End file.
